


Christmas Fun (AKA Dean is Definitely not Scrooge. If Only These Freaking Ghosts Left Him Alone!)

by Anwamane_13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexuality, Dean/Cas Secret Santa, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Sex, Out of Character, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anwamane_13/pseuds/Anwamane_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds a box of vintage Christmas decorations in the bunker, and something very strange happens to him: he wants to celebrate Christmas! Only, the "dreams" he starts having feel too real, the Mark of Cain is still a problem and Cas looks too cute nowadays. Meanwhile, Sam ans Cas have to deal with strange pranks. The problem is that they should've paid attention to the runes scratched on the outside of the box, warning them of the cursed items..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Fun (AKA Dean is Definitely not Scrooge. If Only These Freaking Ghosts Left Him Alone!)

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this. Unfortunately, my recipient dropped out. Still, I hope someone reads this, because I tried to write something short, but it turns out I can't, apparently. So I wrote this monster. Anyways, I did my best, and I really hope you all like it!
> 
> There's no sex in this fic, because it starts right after the mid-season finale and Dean and Cas would never have sex in canon, right after realizing they love each other. 
> 
> English is not my first language. The fic was betaed by "andsomewasps", from Tumblr, a wonderful person who read this really fast because it took me so long to finish it. She's awesome and all the remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> I hope you guys like the story and send me comments; that would make my day.

CHRISTMAS FUN 

_Blood. Blood everywhere. His face is bloody, his hands are bloody, the knife in his right hand is dripping blood. And there are bodies. He can’t say how many, because he is looking at them, but somehow he’s not seeing the bodies, all he sees is the blood. And Dean knows he did this, this_ carnage _around him. He’s kneeling on the floor, and he can hear Sam beside him. He’s saying something, but Dean is too much in a daze to understand. He can hear the words –_ “Tell me it was them or you!” _– but their meaning is lost to him, because the Mark burns on his arm and everything is red, red like blood, so much that it’s almost black. Like his soul._

Dean wakes up with a gasp. Great, a nightmare. Only, this time it was more like a memory. He knows what he did. A week later and he’s still dreaming about the guys he killed. Looking at the clock, he sees it’s still too early to get out of bed, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep again, not if sleeping means having another nightmare.

He can’t stop feeling guilty. Not because he killed the guys; they had it coming, that asshole was about to rape a girl, and the Randy dude was no better than the others. But the way Sammy looked at him, the way his voice cracked when he held Dean’s face in his hands… he can’t forget that. He knows he let Sam down again, because his baby brother believed he was fighting the Mark of Cain, when Dean was just sweeping everything under the rug and pretending it didn’t exist. Like he always does.

He goes to the kitchen and starts making coffee. What he really wants, though, is to find some booze and start drinking, and if he’s lucky, he’ll pass out and maybe this time he won’t have any dreams. But Sammy threw a fit the last time Dean did this, and he knows his brother will be disappointed – again – if he does that. So he won’t. At least, not today.

He looks around, and the sight that greets him is disheartening. There are take out menus everywhere, half-empty cartons of food that smell like last week’s dinner, empty beer bottles on the kitchen’s table, cobwebs in almost every corner and even a bottle of Jim Beam on the library’s floor, its content spilled on the old rug. So, he decides to clean the freaking bunker. He’ll sweep the floors and clean every surface with his bare hands until they bleed if he has to; anything to take his mind off the fucking horror show that seems to be his life.

He’s kind of desperate to take his mind off the many, many thoughts that are almost driving him crazy: How is he going to get rid of the Mark of Cain? Where are Cas and Claire? When will Sam stop looking at him like he’s afraid Dean will start screaming and waving a knife around in a killing spree? Huh. He kind of did that already. Shit.

And every time he thinks of Cas, another wave of guilt assaults him. He can’t forget the angel’s face when he saw what Dean had done. Cas is just one more person – well, angel – Dean let down. Maybe that’s what drove him away again. Maybe Dean’s the reason Cas is always away.

He knows he’s not in a good place right now. When has he ever been in one? But he’s not the type to share and care, so he’ll man up and deal with his own mess by himself, thank you very much. Only, this time he knows what’s happening to him; he’s seen this movie before and the end ain’t pretty. He’s turning once more into the very thing he spent his whole life hunting, and it terrifies him. He’d rather die than turn into a demon again. At least Cas promised he’d take Dean out if he doesn’t find a way to stop this and goes dark side for good. _If_ Cas is around before Dean kills anyone else, that is.

So yeah, he really, really needs to keep busy at all times, or he’ll go crazy. And, since last week’s show, hunting is not an option right now. According to Sam, it’s not ‘ _safe_ ’. Dean wants to argue, because safe isn’t a word he ever used regarding his life, but he doesn’t think he should be around anyone who pisses him off – and ghosts and monsters _really_ piss him off – because he can’t say for sure that he won’t repeat last week’s performance. And he doesn’t believe Sam will let him go anyway. That leaves him only one option – besides drinking himself into a coma – and it’s back to the cleaning part, then. The bunker is huge and it’ll keep him busy at least for a few days.

He starts in the kitchen because it smells as if something died in there. He scrubs every surface, including the counters and the floor. By the time Sam wakes up, hours later, Dean has already cleaned the main room too and he is in the library now, holding a broom and a mop, looking at the spilled whisky in dismay.

“Dude, what’s gotten into you?” Sam asks, looking around.

Dean shrugs. “Sammy, have you seen this bunker? Just because we’re men, it doesn’t mean we need to live like this,” Dean gestures with his hand, showing the spilled drink.

“Yeah, and who do you think did this mess?” Sam asks, bitch face #23 firmly in place.

“Couldn’t you have stopped me from spilling it? This shit spent 8 years aging in oak barrels, and now it’s all over the floor. That’s such a waste, man. ”

Sam put his hands on his waist, scowling. “I didn’t see the bottle, because I was busy dragging your sorry ass from the floor to the couch. Then, I cleaned said floor, because you threw your glass on the wall after I told you, for the umpteenth time, that you should stop drinking too much. I also picked up the glass pieces and put them in the trashcan. I took you to your room and made you lie down, and when you started throwing up I – ”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Dean scowls too. “You’re a fucking saint. No need to remind me that I was in self-pity mode. “

“Dean, stop.” Sam interrupts him. “Look, it wasn’t you, okay? It was the Mark.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmurs, forgetting he has promised himself he won’t mention this anytime soon.

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Look, if you wanna talk about it…”

“Yeah, because that worked wonderfully in the past. Forget it, Sammy. I don’t wanna braid your hair and show you my diary right now. You go do your yoga, or find your own diary to pour your feelings into. I’ll clean this shit and maybe we can go out for some burgers later?”

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam shakes his head and leaves, and Dean would feel guilty for upsetting his little brother, especially now that things are – mostly – alright between them, but he’s too busy trying to forget what a mess he is.

Half an hour later, when Sam comes back, Dean is still scrubbing the rug.

“Dean.” Sam hesitates, stopping by his side. “Listen, um…. This is not working.”

“For God’s freaking sake, man, leave it, okay?” Dean throws the scrubbing brush on the floor. “I don’t wanna talk about the Mark. Can we do that?”

“Huh. I meant the rug. The stains are still there. I… do you… do you want some help? I think we still have some Planet Ultra Powdered in one of the storage rooms. From, you know, from the Levianthan thing.”

Dean gets up with a sigh. “Sorry, I am …”

“A little bit defensive?”

“Lemme get the Borax. You – you stay there. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll make more coffee,” Sam says, still hesitantly. “You want some?”

“Sure,” Dean replies, already outside the library’s door. He doesn’t even ask which of the many storage rooms Sam is talking about. All he wants is that his brother stops looking at him as if he’s gonna crack open any minute.

The first room has nothing but books, boxes and boxes of books. And the second one. And the third. But eventually, Dean manages to find some cleaning supplies, grabs the Borax and is about to leave when a bright red box catches his attention. It’s on the bottom shelf, partially hidden by a box of hypochlorite bleach.

Curious, he puts the bottle on the floor and bends to pick up the box, only then noticing that it’s made of wood, painted in red, and heavier and bigger that it had looked at first sight.

Strange lettering decorates the lid, but they’re small and Dean doesn’t pay much attention to them, because all the important objects in the bunker are catalogued, and the dangerous ones are properly locked somewhere safe. Or so he hopes. But as soon as he opens the box he relaxes: there is nothing but a bunch of Christmas decorations. They look old, but still bright and beautiful; nothing broken, no parts missing apparently.

“Dude, look what I found!” he goes back to the library carrying the box.

Sam opens it cautiously, but then grins. “Christmas decorations…? I thought you didn’t want to celebrate Christmas. We never do.”

That’s right, they never celebrate normal holidays, because their lives are anything but normal. But an idea is slowly starting to form in his mind. This is the first time he and Sam have something close to a home; some place that’s _theirs._ “Yeah, we don’t, but… come on, they’re vintage. It would be a pity to let all this go to waste. Hell, this _whole_ freaking bunker is vintage. Let’s celebrate Christmas in great style this year!”

“Whit whom?” Sam asks, skeptically. “Christmas is a family celebration. And… well, we don’t have any family, Dean.”

“We have one another,” he says, almost choking at his own cheesy words. “And Cas,” he adds. “And Jody. And, Charlie, although she’s not here right now, but she’s alive and that counts, okay? And werewolf Garth, and, and …”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. You wanna celebrate Christmas.”

“And don’t psychoanalyze me, man. Let’s just, I don’t know, act like normal people for once? Buy a freaking tree, deck the halls with boughs of holly and all that.”

 

…xxx...

 

Dean calls Cas, which turns out to be a very good thing, because Cas is already on his way to Lebanon after leaving Claire with her grandmother’s sister. The teen really doesn’t want to be around him, so Cas doesn’t have other choice but leave her be, because he refuses to take her back to the juvenile center. Besides, she would just run away again.

“Maybe one day she’ll change her mind,” Dean says, more to placate Cas than anything else, because if anyone knows everything there is to know about angry teenagers, it’s Dean and Sam Winchester.

“I doubt it,” Cas replies with a sigh. And then, “I look too much like Jimmy.”

“Dude, you _are_ Jimmy. At least on the outside.”

“I’m on my way,” Cas says, and Dean is smart enough to let the subject drop.

 

…xxx...

 

Cas eyes the Christmas decorations critically. “We don’t celebrate Christmas in Heaven. It’s Jesus’ birthday, and he’s not very fond of parties himself, so we usually spend it as we spend every day: in contemplation, praying. And I’ve never seen you two celebrate it either.”

Dean doesn’t miss the look Sam sends Cas’ way. But he’s feeling strangely energized, cheerful even. He doesn’t want to analyze his sudden change of spirit. And before Sam says “ _I told you so”_ , Dean cuts in with “It doesn’t mean we can’t start celebrating it now, right Sammy?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam shrugs. “But Dean, are you alright? This seems a bit… sudden.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, you two, lighten up! We’ve been spending these past ten years dealing with the Apocalypse, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory and every other shit there is under the sun. If we wanna celebrate Christmas, we’re entitled to do that, right?”

“Right,” Sam says, resigned, patting Cas on the shoulder. “Right, Cas?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want…”

Sam goes out to get a tree while Dean and Cas start choosing the best ornaments to use. There are bells, candles and colored stars made of glass, reflecting the light beautifully. These ones Dean put aside to hang on the tree. They also find plastic icicles, candy canes, balls and hearts. Cas seems very fond of the hearts, because they remind him of his cupid brothers and sisters, and Dean doesn’t have the courage to tell him that he’s mixing the holidays, that hearts are for Valentine’s day, not Christmas. It doesn’t matter anyway.

They also find Santa Claus throw pillows, vintage celluloid Santa toys, a few candles, celluloid reindeer and a lot, a _lot_ of tinsel in all possible colors. Sorting through the box’s contents with Cas feels familiar, even though they’d never done anything like that before. It feels peaceful and Dean realizes, all of a sudden, that his shoulders are not so tense like it seems to be their default mode. Cas keeps quiet beside him, calmly and methodically picking up item by item from the box and arranging them in a line over the table. It feels… nice.

When Sam comes back, they all go outside to help him carry the tree. It’s huge, and they’re tired by the time they find a place for it. The sight of a Christmas tree in the bunker is oddly comforting for Dean. Growing up, they never got to have a proper Christmas. The few times they got anything remotely close to tradition, were when they spent the holidays at Bobby’s. The older hunter always had at least one small present for each one of them, but even then, they never got to have their own tree.

And there was that time, in a motel, the year before Dean went to Hell. That was nice, but the dark future looming over their heads took half the fun off it. Not that Dean doesn’t have a dark future _now_ ; he has one and he knows it. But he can’t explain it, something happened to him when he grabbed that box; something good, that left him looking forward to celebrating the holidays. In Dean’s experience, when something good happens, you don’t spend too much time thinking about it; you enjoy it while you can, because good things never last.

They decide to hang the ornaments on the tree the next day, but Dean wants to put the tinsel on the doorframes _now_. Sam rolls his eyes, and goes to take a shower. Cas says he’ll help, but he looks completely lost with all that sparkling material around him, looking at the tinsel on the floor with his head tilted to one side and a frown, so Dean decides, barely hiding his grin, that Cas can help him, holding the garlands while Dean puts them in place.

All in all, it’s a pleasant night. Dean goes out to buy a burger and pie for himself and a salad for Sam, while the others stay home to place the candles – decorated with more tinsel – on tables, mantelpieces and counters. They watch a little bit of TV, but the bunker doesn’t have cable, so Sam goes to bed early while Dean and Cas stay watching old Dr. Sexy reruns.

Dean doesn’t even realize how he falls asleep with his head on Cas’ shoulder. He also doesn’t see that Cas carries him to his bed. Most important, though, is the fact that the Mark of Cain doesn’t burn on his arm even once.

 

…xxx...

 

 “Dean? Dean, wake up.”

“Wha…?”

“Dean, come on boy, we don’t have much time!”

“What the hell, Sammy, lemme sleep!”

“Open your eyes, Dean. I’m not your brother.”

Dean feels a shiver going down his spine. He knows that voice. And it’s _really_ not Sammy.

“You’re dead,” he says, looking at Samuel Campbell. His hand is already under the pillow, where his gun is. Suddenly his room feels very, very cold.

“Clever observation, but if I’m dead you know your gun won’t work with me.”

Dean points the gun at him anyway. “Get away from me.”

Samuel rolls his eyes and grumbles, impatient. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I have a message for you and I can’t leave until you get it, so come on, get up and let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Not until I know what you want.”

“I want to go home, that’s what I want,” Samuel huffs. “Deanna was making my favorite stew in Heaven, and I had to leave.”

Wait. Samuel Campbell went to Heaven? Huh. “I’m not stopping you.” Dean motions to the door with the gun, still pointed at his grandfather.

“I told you, boy, I can’t. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“What the hell do you want, then? You’re a freaking ghost.”

“That I am. I’m your own personal ‘ _Ghost from Christmas Past’_.” Samuel turns and walks to the door. “Come on. And keep the iron and salt away from me, will you? If you send me away I’ll be just sent back here again, and the sooner we get this done, the better for the two of us.”

“Why the hell would I follow you? We don’t even like each other.”

Samuel grimaces. “But we did, once.”

 

…xxx...

 

They don’t go far. In fact, they don’t even leave the MOL bunker. Samuel Campbell’s ghost takes Dean through a long and bright corridor, with several doors on both sides. It’s unlike  any corridor Dean has ever seen in this place, its walls white and shiny.

“Start opening the doors,” Samuel tells him. “We don’t have all night.”

“What’s inside?” Dean still doesn’t know why he followed the guy for starters, but he’s more than intrigued by the fact that Samuel went to Heaven, since he wasn’t a very good person when he came back from the dead. Well, the ghost could be lying. Only, this guy here, in spite of his harsh manners, doesn’t feel like the Samuel Campbell Dean last saw. This guy is still unpleasant, but there’s a peaceful vibe coming from him. So, yeah, against his better judgment, Dean’s gonna give him a vote of confidence this time. “Are we looking for something?” he asks, before touching the closest doorknob.

“We’re looking for you, Dean,” Samuel answers, and his voice is somehow gentler, despite the impatience barely concealed in it.

Dean opens the door and sees… a living room. A very familiar living room, and although he hasn’t seen it for more than thirty years, he knows exactly where he is. “Home…” he whispers, not daring to go any further.

The place is exactly as Dean remembers. The small living room has white walls, wooden floors, a brown leather couch in a corner, a small TV and flowery curtains on the windows.  There’s also a small Christmas tree near the stairs, decorated with red ribbons and golden bells, and hanging from the mantelpiece, three red stockings achingly familiar.

Suddenly, a golden haired toddler enters the room running and giggling, followed by a beautiful blonde woman. Dean gasps, because he doesn’t remember seeing his mother so happy, and the toddler can only be himself, at two, maybe three years old. Mary finally catches little Dean, and she holds him in her arms, laughing and twirling around the room.

“Let’s go take a shower, sweetie, Daddy will be home soon and we want to look nice and clean for him, don’t we?” she says, kissing the child’s head.

“You think he will read me a story?” little Dean asks.

They keep talking softly to each other, and Dean can’t stop looking at them, amazed by the adoration he sees in his mother’s eyes and the happiness in his own. He doesn’t remember this particular moment, but he remembers that they used to have a Christmas tree and presents; Dean’s stocking was full of candies on Christmas day, and his present was always the biggest box under the tree.

“Look at her…” Samuel says softly from behind. “Isn’t my Mary beautiful?”

Dean can only nod, because he doesn’t trust his voice right now. Mary is really beautiful, and she looks so full of life that it’s hard to believe she’s not real. She looks real, though, and Dean wants so much to hug her and warn her about yellow-eyes, and –

“They can’t see us, you can go inside.”

Only then Dean realizes he’s still by the door. But he can’t go inside; his legs seem paralyzed, his whole body seems paralyzed. He knows he won’t be able to go any further. It will hurt even more than it hurts now.

“I can’t,” he rasps, “It’s… too much.”

He feels Samuel’s hand on his arm. “Let’s go to the next door, then.”

Dean lets himself be led to another door, but when he opens it, he sees the same room. Only, the Christmas tree decorations are different now, and little Dean is older. John is in the living room with him, and they’re playing with toy soldiers on the floor while Mary sits in an armchair, humming to herself and sewing what looks like baby clothes. With a pang on his chest, he realizes this was his mother’s last Christmas. Even sitting down, it’s possible to see her swollen belly, with his baby brother inside. Sammy, who never got to spend one single Christmas with his mom.

“So, you came here to torture me,” he says angrily at Samuel’s ghost, but unable to look away from the scene inside the room. It hurts to look at them, because he knows they were never happy like that again.

“This is not me, boy, these are your own memories,” the ghost answers. “You want this to end, let’s move along. There are a lot of doors in this damn corridor, and you need to open every single one.”

The third door takes them to the same place, but it looks like a whole different world for Dean. It's his living room, or what's left of it after the fire. He can see himself in the same armchair his mother was before, and he’s cradling his baby brother in his arms. Baby Sam is babbling and making cute baby noises and Dean is cooing at him. On the sofa, John is passed out, holding an empty whiskey bottle.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy,” four, almost five year old Dean whispers to his brother, and Sam smiles happily, completely oblivious to the mess around him. There’s no tree in the living room, and the place looks filthy, with grimy furniture and dusty floor. The walls are blackened, probably due to the fire, and Dean supposes all the bedrooms upstairs were destroyed, because Sam's cradle is in a corner.

From then on, every door Dean opens is to a different version of Christmas after the fire that killed his mother. Sometimes John is with them, sleeping while Dean tells Sam stories; sometimes they’re at Bobby’s, watching Christmas movies and having pizza. There’s even one Christmas Dean spent by himself, because John was AWOL and Sam was at college. But most of the times, there are only Dean and Sam, alone in a motel room. There’s always Dean, trying to give his brother some semblance of normalcy, sometimes stealing to give Sam things any boy should have on Christmas, like food, presents, safety. There’s always Dean trying to make his father stay with them; trying to make him stop moving them from town to town; trying too keep his family together, but always failing.  And there’s always Sam, angry at John for leaving them, but looking grateful and relieved to have his brother with him.

John wasn’t the best of fathers. But he loved his sons. Dean knows that like he knows his own name. Only, Mary’s death broke something inside him that nothing in the world was ever able to mend.

It reaches a point where Dean doesn’t want to open another damn door, because he already knows what’s inside. It’s always a version of how Dean failed his brother, how he never got to give Sammy the Christmas he deserved, the family he needed,  the safety he didn’t have.

On the last one, Dean sees the Christmas he spent in the bunker. Kevin had been killed by Gadreel and Sam was possessed; only God knew where he was. Well, maybe not even God. Whatever. But Dean spent the night drinking himself into a rage fit, smashing glasses and plates at the wall and screaming at Heaven and Hell.  He ended up crying like a baby, begging Sam to forgive him even though his brother wasn’t there, and realizing he should had let Sam die in peace rather than trick him like he did.

It’s not something Dean likes to remember, because this was, by far, his worse Christmas night – and shit, almost _all_ of Dean’s Christmas nights were pretty crappy, if you ask him – so he closes the door with a bang as soon as he sees himself holding a bottle of Johnny Walker.

“Are we done?” he asks Samuel, and hey, when did his voice get this raspy? “Have you finished torturing me now? Can you go back to the hole you came from and leave me the fuck alone?”

Samuel shook his head sadly. “Don’t shoot the messenger, boy. I didn’t do anything. Everything you saw was a product of your own mind; your own memories.”

“Gee, Grandpa, thanks for making me remember every fucking crappy Christmas I ever had. It was a blast!” Dean turns his back to the ghost and starts walking away from him. He wants to go back to his room; he can practically taste the bourbon he knows is hidden on the dresser’s bottom drawer. “Was there even a point to all this shit?” he asks, not turning back to look, because he can feel the ghost right behind him.

  
 “You completely missed the point here, you know. This was never meant to make you suffer, Dean. It was meant to make you see the truth.”

Samuel pats him on the shoulder, and his voice is softer now than it ever was. Dean stops, but keeps his gaze firmly on the end of the corridor. He doesn’t want to look at his grandfather now and see pity in his eyes. “And what the fucking truth is there to see?”

“That everything you did, since your mother died, was to make your brother and your father happy. And if that didn’t work, it wasn’t your fault. You try to find all sort of excuses for you father, when you know he failed you and Sam more than once; yet you fail to use the same kindness on yourself.”

“You leave my father out of this. He did what he could.”

“And you didn’t? Boy, let me tell you something: the fact that your brother is a fully capable, strong and compassionate human being has more to do with you than with your father. By far. And I’m sure Sam would agree with me.”

“You finished?” Dean asks, angry again, because no one will talk crap about John in front of him. “If you did, get the hell out of here.”

“You are a good person, Dean. You deserve to be saved.”

Dean looks sharply at him, because he can almost hear Cas’ voice saying the same thing.  And after all this time, he still doesn’t believe in it. “Get the hell out of here and leave me alone,” he rasps.

“I will, boy. I did what I came here to do. I showed you what a good man you are. But you’re a really stubborn one, aren’t you?” Samuel’s ghost sighs. “I hope the others have better luck.”

“Others? What others?” Dean asks, looking around.

But Samuel is no longer there.

 

...xxx...

 

Dean opens his eyes, gasping for breath, and he sits up so fast he gets a little dizzy. Looking around, he sees he’s still in his bedroom, in his ratty t-shirt and old sweatpants. Was everything a dream? Did he dream that his grandfather’s ghost came to him last night to torture him with his past mistakes? It seems so.

Relieved, Dean looks at his watch on the bedside table. It’s still three thirty, not even close to morning. He lies down again, but he’s antsy and his heart is beating fast. He starts taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. But it’s not so easy. He still can remember Samuel’s voice, and shit, it felt so real!

That’s when he hears the noise: someone is screaming.

And it’s Sam.

 

…xxx...

 

“Oh my God! Dean! Dean, come up here!”

“I’m coming, Sammy! Hang on!” The closer Dean gets to the common bathroom, the more scared he gets, because Sam’s cries are getting louder and more desperate. If someone is hurting his brother, Dean will –

He’s not ready for the sight that greets him.

Sam is facing the mirror, a horrified look on his face. His hands are grabbing the sides of the sink, and he looks aghast. His huge eyes are almost popping out of his face, and there’s genuine fear in them.

He has no hair on his head. Sam is completely bald.

“Huh. I know I’ve been pestering you to cut your hair, man but this is too much,” is all Dean can say, because, what the fuck?

“Shut up, this is not funny, Dean!” Sam yells.

Sam’s wrong, he looks funny as hell. And Dean really, really wants to laugh. But his brother looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, so Dean is starting to get worried here.

“How the hell did this happen?”

“I have no idea,” Sam moans, looking at his reflection again and shuddering. “I was dreaming that I was at a barber shop, and there was this pretty girl brushing my hair and telling me how beautiful and lush it is… and then Luc –  um… the devil appeared and told me that my worst nightmare was about to come true. I woke up all sweaty, and I immediately knew there was something strange… I came here to take a shower and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I – I – Dean, what if my hair never grows back?”

“Dude, _this_ is your worst nightmare?”

“Shut up, jerk, this is serious!” Sam whines. “My life is over.”

The words make Dean slip immediately in ‘big brother mode’. He holds Sam’s face between his hands and looks him in the eyes, all traces of laugh gone from his face. “Hey, Sammy, look at me. We will figure it out, ok? It’s gonna be alright.”

“But Dean, what if – “

“No matter what it is, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“All right,” Sam sighs, a little calmer. “What do you think happened?”

Only then Dean remembers that Sam dreamed about the devil. What if he came back? “Dunno. But I think we better ask Cas if it’s possible for Luci to come back after he took the fucker off your mind.”

“It was just a dream, Dean. The devil’s not back, I’m sure. Cas took him off me for good; I felt him leaving, it was a million times better than the wall Death put there.  And that’s why Cas went crazy, remember?”

And how could Dean forget? Leaving Cas with Meg, knowing he was vulnerable, a target to anyone – and there were a lot of angels and demons who wanted to kill him – and knowing he was too out of it to defend himself? Those months were torture. Dean had just found Cas and he lost him all over again.

Speaking of Cas, where is he?” Sam asks, looking at Dean expectantly. “He’s not with you?”

“No, why the hell would he be with me?” Dean asks, and wait a minute, why didn’t Cas came to Sam’s aid? Sam screamed like a damsel in a horror movie, he would have woken up the whole block if they weren’t in a hobbit hole. Surely Cas heard him screaming too?

“Huh… he wasn’t in the living room when I passed on my way here. I thought you and him… never mind.”

Dean decides not to ask Sam what the hell he’s talking about. “Um, we better go looking for him, then.”

They stop at Sam’s room so he can grab a cap to put on his head, and in Dean’s opinion, he doesn’t look less funny than a minute ago. But okay, he can see the gravity of the situation: Sam dreams about the devil saying something about his worst nightmare, and wakes up bald. This is really creepy.

 

…xxx...

 

They can’t find Cas in the living room; he’s also not in the library; nor in the kitchen. They look for him everywhere, even in the garage and the roof. But he’s really not there.

“He’s gone, the asshole,” Dean says almost to himself, shaking his head angrily. “Dammit Cas.”

“He wouldn’t leave without talking to us,” Sam retorts.

Dean chuckles, sarcasm evident in his face. “Yeah, because he’s never done that before.” He sighs. “Come on, I’ll make coffee and we’ll start researching. There’s gotta be a solution to your bal – I mean, problem, somewhere.“

One hour later, Dean is sitting on the couch, a heavy book on his lap, ‘Medieval Wicca and Sorcery’, and his eyes already hurt at the too small letters. Great, now he needs glasses? He huffs in annoyance. Sam disappeared to the library with a large mug of coffee. Poor guy. Okay, he laughed at seeing Sam bald, because he takes so much care of his hair. But if said hair doesn’t grow back… it stops being funny and becomes worrying, because the bunker is supposed to be one of the safest places in the world, right? And this means that there’s something there with them. Because Sam wasn’t the only one affected, was he? Dean had a nightmare too, even though his didn’t leave after effects. He thinks he can safely assume that it was more than a nightmare.

He knows he should tell Sam about it. Maybe see what Sam thinks about Samuel’s ghost appearing and making him open all those goddamn doors.  But he doesn’t. Because he would have to say what he saw and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about that now. Maybe never. Besides, the guy is worried enough, freaking out because he looks like a younger Bruce Willis. Dean can’t imagine Sam bald forever, proudly and freely displaying his dazzling dome. Ha. That will never happen.

He looks at the Christmas tree, the one they didn’t started decorating yet, and there’s something on the treetop. Dean frowns, because it looks like… funny, but it looks like someone put an angel on the treetop. And the angel is wearing black slacks, a white shirt and a tan coat. His wings look a little torn and frayed, just like Cas’ wings would look if he had been thrown out of Heaven.  

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, getting up in a hurry and running to the tree. The angel has a frown on his face, and okay, it looks too much like Cas to be a coincidence.

“What happened, Dean?” Sam comes hurrying from the library. “Are you bald too?”

And here Dean would be laughing about the hope he hears in his brother’s voice. But he’s freaking out, while trying his best not to freak out. “Um, Sam, you didn’t happen to buy an angel for our tree, did you? One that looks exactly like Cas?”

“Of course not, Dean, angels on Christmas trees don’t look like Cas; they have white gowns, and long hair and –  oh,” Sam says, when he looks at the tree.

“Yeah. Oh,” Dean repeats eloquently.

“He looks like an action figure. Are you sure it’s the real Cas?”

“No. But don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence? Something very strange happened to you. Now Cas is like this. And I - ” Dean reaches up to take the angel off the tree, but he can’t. “He’s stuck.”

“You what?” Sam asks, alarmed, checking if Dean is alright. ” Are you hurt?”

“Sam. He’s stuck,” Dean says, hoping to take Sam’s attention away from his dream. “Gimme a little help here.”

Sam looks at Dean with bitch face #162, and shit, it does't seem as effective without the hair. Sam is clearly not buying his bullshit, but he grabs the angel by the wings and gives it a strong pull.

The next thing Dean knows, he and Sam are on the other side of the main room, being held against the wall, almost upside down.

“Uh, Sam? I think it’s really him, and he still has his mojo.”

“You think?” Sam squeals, holding the cap firmly on his head.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says out loud. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The pressure on them lessens, and they slide slowly to the floor. The angel is still on top of the Christmas tree.

“But Cas, if you still have your mojo, why don’t you get away from there?” Sam says out loud, adjusting the cap with more strength than necessary.

There is a small flash of light, and tiny Cas doll is suddenly on the coffee table. Sam and Dean smile at each other triumphantly, but then there’s a loud crack and the angel is back on top of the tree.

“I guess that answers your question, Sammy. He probably already tried that.”

“I think you know by now that the bunker is cursed.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“How did this happen, though? Every corner of this place is warded.”

Dean shakes his head. “I have no idea, man. All I know is that we gotta keep looking for a way to undo this shit.”

Sam sighs and rubs his hands together. “Okay, back to research then, I guess.”

Dean looks at his brother. Sam looks like shit, his eyes red and tired, his shoulders hunched and his baldness doesn’t look so funny anymore. Cas is a freaking doll, and seeing him so helpless makes Dean’s heart heavy. Since he doesn’t want to examine why, he mumbles some excuse about needing more coffee and goes to the kitchen, where he can take a deep breath and try to calm down a bit. The last thing Sam and Cas need is for Dean to freak out right now. It’s almost six in the morning, and Dean already knows it’s gonna be a long day.

He takes his time. There are some dirty plates in the sink and he washes them slowly, reveling in the feeling of doing something normal for a change. After making a pot of fresh coffee, Dean pours a mug for himself, another for Sam and goes to the main room again.

Sam is sprawled on the floor. So is a very normal-sized Cas.

“Sam! Cas!” Dean almost burns his hands when he practically shoves the mugs on the nearest surface, but he doesn’t care. Sam opens his eyes and starts sitting up, groggily, before Dean can reach them. Cas is already awake too, looking around, confused.

“What happened?” Dean asks, one hand on Cas’ arm, another on Sam’s shoulder. Then he takes a real look at his brother. “Whoa. Sam. Your hair is back.”

“Really?” Sam squeals, putting both hands on his head. His eyes widen almost comically, and he gets up so fast that he almost trips on Dean’s leg. He runs to the bathroom, laughing and saying ‘thank God’ over and over.

It’s Cas who answers. “I think the curse that plagued us is gone.”

It turned out Cas was watching TV alone in the middle of the night when Meg – yes, Meg, the demon – appeared in the TV to say he was the prettiest tree topper she’d ever seen, and the next thing he knew, he had been turned into a doll, he couldn’t move and he was on top of the Christmas tree. He’s sure it was really her, but she’s dead, and he doesn’t sleep, so how could he be dreaming?

They have no idea how or why Sam and Cas came back to normal from one moment to the other, since they don’t know what happened to them in the first place.

They don’t ask why Dean was spared, and he’s more than relieved for that. Besides, Dean _wasn’t_ spared, was he?  But what happened to him seems so small – it was only a trip down memory lane, after all – that he doesn’t say anything. They spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what happened, because hey, the bunker is full of protecting wards and spells, so nothing should be able to reach them, right?

But something did.

As the day goes on, they become more and more frustrated, though. Dean and Cas check all the wards, and everything seems fine. Sam finds several records about how the bunker is the most protected place in the world – at least against supernatural creatures – and nothing goes inside or outside without its residents’ knowledge.

After dinner, Cas – of all people – asks Dean if he doesn’t want to hang the decorations on the Christmas tree, but Dean’s heart is not in it. So, the three of them just take some small porcelain statues – some of Santa, some of angels, which leaves Cas very irritated – an put them on the coffee table. Sam takes a small snow globe to his bedroom, and that’s it.

All the time, Dean can’t stop thinking about what Samuel told him. Even if he thinks it was a bunch of crap, his grandfather’s words keep playing on and on inside his head. 

When they finish, Dean is convinced that what happened is somewhat his fault. Samuel said Dean is a good man, but Dean knows it’s bullshit. Maybe the bunker isn’t so protected anymore, because when Dean was a demon, he had no problem getting inside the place. When they brought Crowley, he was bound and gagged, and Sam had to break one of the wards – which they fixed later – to get the demon in.

Maybe Dean broke another ward without noticing it, and now they’re vulnerable inside their own home. The Mark of Cain is making his arm throb once more and he can’t concentrate. Right now, he wants to go out, drive until he reaches the end of the world, drink until he can’t see straight. He _knows_ it’s his fault. They could be living a normal life, he and Sam, being productive normal hunters, hunting and killing and –

He can’t even think about killing without shuddering. His arm throbs again. Maybe if he hadn’t accepted the goddamn Mark, Abaddon would have killed him and this shit would be over.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Cas says, sitting in front of Dean at the kitchen table. He eyes the beer Dean’s holding and grimaces. “Drinking won’t solve anything.”

“Dude, get out of my head,” Dean snaps. “There’s a reason why thoughts are private, Cas, so people can’t eavesdrop and give you shit for the things inside your own freaking mind.”

“I’m not eavesdropping, Dean. You think too loud. If you want me to leave you alone, stop projecting your pain all over the place.”

“Projecting my – dude, leave me alone. I’m not projecting jackshit.”

“I can’t. There is a profound bond between us; you know that. I can tell when you’re not fine and I know the Mark of Cain is affecting you.“

“Yeah, well, that’s _my_ problem, not yours, alright? I already know you’re not gonna help, ‘cause I asked you to get rid of me if I ever… Cas, I killed those guys for no reason and you didn’t – “

“I could never – I didn’t answer you that day at the diner, I didn’t say I would do it. Dean, I can’t… I am incapable of hurting you. I just – I just can’t.”

Dean’s mind flashes to that day, in the crypt, when Cas punched him, broke his arm and was about to kill him, because Naomi was making him do it. He remembers Cas’ desperate voice saying ‘ _What have you done to me, Naomi?_ ’, the way he finally broke her control and the tender way he held Dean’s face when he healed him later. He remembers the remorse on Cas’ face. He remembers when, after they all fell from Heaven, the angels asked him to kill Dean so they would follow him. And Cas didn’t. He realizes Cas will never kill him, will never hurt him intentionally, even if Dean turns into a knight of Hell again.

He can’t say he doesn’t know why. It’s the same reason that makes him forgive Cas’ mistakes over and over again.

He can’t look at it too closely right now. Because he’s not worth Cas’ friendship; or whatever crap this ‘profound bond’ thing is.

“You can’t fix this, okay, Cas?” Dean snaps, louder than he intended. “It’s a lost cause. I’m a lost cause.” He scratches his arm, and he can feel Cas’ eyes on him. He keeps looking at the floor, because he doesn’t want to look at his friend and see a look of pity in his face.

“Let me help,” Cas insists.

“What, you have a hero complex or something?”

Cas gives an annoyed huff and grabs Dean’s arm, right over where the Mark of Cain is. Dean feels an electric current go down his arm, and it makes him dizzy, but he doesn’t take Cas’ hand away. The touch is almost soothing, to be honest. He looks at Cas’ eyes, only to find them fixed on his face. They keep looking at each other for a few moments, and all the while Cas’ hand is on Dean’s arm. 

Then Cas gasps, and takes his hand away, as if burned. Dean looks at his arm and sees that the mark is still there, but it’s not an angry red anymore. Now it’s… blue.

“What did you do, you idiot?” he asks, shaking his head. He wants to ask if Cas is okay, but he’s stubborn as a mule, so he doesn’t.

Cas’ eyes are soft, but they’re still burning holes in Dean’s face. “I put some Grace into your arm. It should lessen the Mark’s effects for a few days.”

Dean blinks. “The same Grace that’s slowly seeping out of you?”

“Yes. I expect it will give you a few days of peace.”

Dean is suddenly very angry. “You don’t get to do that, you stupid son of a bitch. You don’t get to give me your fucking Grace and die on me just because you think you’re gonna fix some stupid mistake that I did to myself. I don’t want your sacrifice, you hear me?”

Cas gets up, all kindness gone from his expression. “The Grace is mine to do what I want with it. Don’t presume to understand my reasons, Dean.”

Dean gets up too.  “Oh, yes? And what reasons are those?”

They stare at each other angrily for a few seconds, and Dean has no idea why the notion that Cas is sacrificing himself – again – for him makes him so mad when it didn’t bother him so much years ago. He doesn’t want to see Cas hurt because of him; he knows the little shit needs the fucking Grace to keep living, at least until he finds a more permanent solution.

He doesn’t move, and although his heart is beating fast and his palms are sweating, he keeps glaring at the angel. There’s something really badass about him when he stares a Dean like that. It makes a shiver run down Dean’s spine, but he doesn’t want to know why. Not right now.

Cas deflates, though. His eyes suddenly go from angry to sad, and he shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand. But at least you should show me some gratitude, because I never ask for much but your friendship and company. And you always end up treating me like… like shit.”

He storms out of the kitchen, leaving Dean with his mouth hanging open.

 

…xxx...

 

Dean doesn’t see Cas again that night. He hides in his bedroom, because he knows their argument was loud enough for Sam to listen, and he doesn’t want his brother’s questioning eyes on him tonight.

Eventually, Sam knocks on his door when Dean in listening to music, with his headphones, lying on his bed. When he gets inside, with pizza and a beer for Dean, Sam still looks happy to have his hair back. While Dean eats, they talk about what to do about the bunker’s safety, but it seems there’s nothing to be done right now. What happened to Sam and Cas was even funny, from a prank point of view and nothing really serious. They decide to wait and see if anything else happens; they don’t have much choice anyway.

Sam doesn’t talk about Cas. Dean doesn’t ask.

 

…xxx...

 

“Dean? Dean, wake up!”

Dean jumps from his bed the moment he hears the same words from the night before. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting it, because this time he’s fully dressed. In case this isn't just a dream, he won’t visit his memories in his pajamas again.

But this time is not Samuel Campbell’s ghost that’s waiting for him.

“Bobby?”

“The one and only, idjit,” Bobby says, almost affectionately.

“Are you real?” Dean asks, rubbing his eyes to make sure he’s not dreaming.

Bobby rolls her eyes. “As real as a ghost can be. Come on, do you have any iron here?”

Dean blinks. “Why?”

“Ya need to know you’re not dreaming? This is how. Come on, we don’t have all night.”

“Huh… there’s an iron bar under the bed. But – “

“Go wash your face, grab a beer and wait for me here.” Bobby’s ghost bends down and touches something under Dean’s bed - probably the iron bar, because the ghost disappears with a ' _poof_ ’ and a little white smoke.

Dean does as he was told. He washes his face on his room’s sink, then goes to the kitchen to grab a beer, but he sees the coffee maker and decides to have some coffee instead. He knows he’s awake, but he wants to _keep_ awake for this. It’s not every day that the ghost of your surrogate father appears.

When he goes back, Bobby is already there, inspecting his room. He makes a face of approval at the pictures he sees displayed on the bedside table, but he greets Dean with impatience. “What took ya so long?”

Dean sighs. Yeah, that’s really Bobby; always so soft and affectionate. There’s so much he wants to ask, so much he wants to say, but he ends up saying, “So, why are you here?”

“I’m your _‘Ghost from Christmas Present’_ ,” Bobby huffs, looking annoyed. “It’s not like there was anybody else for the job, so here I am.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean asks, because _what_? “Samuel said he was my Ghost of Christmas Past. What, am I turning into Scrooge? It’s not even Christmas Eve!”

Bobby looks at Dean and shakes his head, sighing. Then he starts explaining, like he’s talking to a very stupid child. “You’ve been spending your whole life dealing with the supernatural, idjit. By now you should know that some people turn myths into stories and even books, and they end up looking like fairytales, legends or some other shit; but they’re real. Or, at least, they were real once.”

“You telling me that Charles Dickens’ story was real?”  Dean huffs a laugh.

“The ghosts of Christmas didn’t come to anyone called Ebenezer Scrooge, if that’s what you’re asking. But the ghosts from Christmas Past, Present and Future are real. I have no idea how Dickens got to the story, and I don’t give a shit. But it’s true, and I’m here to do the same job your grandpa did last night: show you something you don’t wanna see because you’re too dumb to realize.”

“Hey!” Dean complains.

He remembers that the Wizard of Oz story was real too, and Charlie is in Oz right now having – he hopes – the time of her life. Shit, how many of these stories are true?

“Come on, boy. It’s not gonna take long.”

 

…xxx...

 

 

They go to the same corridor. At least it looks like it – with white, shiny walls – but at the same time it’s different because there are only two doors.

  
“Which one should I choose first?” he asks, looking at Bobby expectantly.

But the ghost shrugs. “Do I look like I know?”

“Dude, you should know! What kind of Christmas Ghost are you?”

“One who should be home with his wife,” Bobby answers. “We were about to go to Ellen’s Heaven when I was called.”

“Called? By whom?” Dean asks, and hey, since when does Heaven look like an eternal stream of food and social meetings? Dean’s time there wasn’t as pleasant as Bobby’s and Samuel’s, apparently.

“Can’t tell ya,” Bobby pats Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s  move, idjit, the doors won’t open themselves.

Dean opens the door to the right. It looks so much like Sam’s bedroom that Dean takes a step back and looks at the corridor again. Yep, white walls, bright and clean, and Dean knows the corridors here are a little too dark. Sighing, he looks inside again, and the place is empty, but he can hear Sam humming a song from somewhere. He enters the room, looking around, and yes, it’s really his little brother’s bedroom. It’s a lot like his own, but Sam has a lot more books and less weapons. The place looks cozy, and although Sam had said once that the bunker doesn’t feel like home to him, it looks like Sam is very comfortable with the place.

There’s a shoebox on the bed. It’s open, and it’s easy to see what’s inside: pictures.

“Go ahead, take a look,” Bobby says from behind him. “Maybe that thick skull of yours will understand that Sam loves ya.”

Dean doesn’t want to. But if he knows anything about these ghosts is that they are persistent, and they keep pestering you until you do as they say. It’s not that he wants Bobby to go away, but if this thing is anything like last night, it won’t be pleasant, and the sooner it ends, the better.

The first picture is of the four of them, the little Winchester family, in front of their little house. Mary is holding Sam and John is holding Dean, and everyone is smiling, even little Sammy with his toothless smile. It’s a beautiful picture; Dean has one like that himself. It gives him an incredible feeling of loss, and he takes a shaky breath, because shit, they looked so happy, they _were_ so happy and a few weeks later everything went to shit.

If someone ever told Dean that he once had a normal life, a blessedly oblivious one, where he believed in good and safety, he would laugh for hours. Seeing the small boy he once was, with eyes full of joy and hope, is weird. Life is weird. One moment you have it all, and the next one you’re history.

The next picture is a funny one. They are in what looks like Bobby’s kitchen. A very young Dean is holding a baby Sam, and Sam’s mouth is dirty with what can only be chocolate.

“I took this one,” Bobby says. “I left you guys for one minute and you tried to give Sam your desert, because he was crying. I’m glad your dad didn’t see it – he was working on a case – because he woulda given me shit for that.”

“Huh,” Dean says, because he had no idea this picture even existed. How come he never saw it?

“Look at this one,” Bobby says, showing Dean a picture of him and Sam beside the Impala. Dean looks in his early teens, and Sam is still a child, all chubby cheeks and the ever-present bangs almost covering his eyes. “I took this one too. You boys stayed with me for the summer that year.” In the picture, Dean is holding the car keys and he’s trying his best to look cool, but Sam is hugging his brother’s waist with both arms; while Dean is looking at the camera, Sam’s head is tilted up, and he’s looking at Dean with what can only be described as adoration.

“You can look at all the pictures in this box,” Bobby said, almost softly. “And in all of them you’ll see you and your brother. Together. He keeps all of these pictures, boy, because you’re his family. You weren’t only his big brother and you know it. You were his father, his mother, his teacher. You were the only constant thing in his life, Dean.”

Dean takes a deep breath and looks around, because suddenly he can’t look at the pictures anymore. His eyes sting, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Is there any purpose in this? I mean, other than show me Sammy’s a lot tidier than me?”

Bobby crosses his arms in front of him. “Did you know Sam put these pictures in this box so you and him can look at them together on Christmas Eve?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “He did?”

“Yep. Now ya see how much he loves ya?”

“Yeah, I see it, I see it,” Dean exits to the corridor, closing the door behind him. “I see how he’s wasting his time putting his faith in me. I mean, have you seen how many stupid mistakes I made?” He shows Bobby his arm, where the blue Mark of Cain is easy to see.

“I can’t deny this was a bad idea, son,” Bobby says, shaking his head in dismay. “You do stupid things sometimes, ya idjit. But you do a lot of good things too. For example, you raised your brother.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he woulda turned out living a better life if I hadn’t – shit, he was happy with his girlfriend, he was going to start grad school, but I had to go and call him back to the family business. Look what happened.”

“I know what happened, alright!” Bobby grabbed Dean’s face. “He didn’t die along with his girlfriend. He didn’t get to be the devil’s meatsuit. He didn’t die closing the gates of Hell and so on.”

“So you know what happened; what I did.”

“I live in Heaven, not in another galaxy. And yeah, I already said that, you do some pretty stupid things sometimes. But you do them for the right reasons.”

Dean has another flash of Cas saying that to him, when he told him about Gadreel. He feels a pang remembering how Cas always tries to find an explanation to almost every stupid thing Dean does, and Dean… he rants and complains and he gets angry every time Cas does something he doesn't agree with.

He’s a terrible friend. It’s a wonder Cas is still around.

“Alright, what’s inside the other door?”

Bobby raises both eyebrows. “I hope you have nothing against listening to other people’s talks.”

“I seem politically correct to you?”

“Good point.”

The other room leads to… Sam’s room. Again. And Sam is inside, talking to… Cas.”

Dean takes a few steps back. “Oh, no, no, no, I’m not gonna – “

Bobby puts a hand on Dean’s back so he can’t go far. “Yes, you will. This is important.”

“Bobby, I can’t. This is – this is _–_ I don’t wanna know what they’re talking about.”

“ ’Course it’s about you,” Bobby deadpans, “or I wouldn’t make you listen in. Now suck it up and go there.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, princess, I love you too.”

Dean rolls his eyes and huffs, but he steps into the room. Crap. “Okay,” he mumbles, knowing Bobby is right behind him.

Cas is leaning against the wall, a defeated expression on his face. Sam is sitting on the bed, his ‘sharing and caring’ face open and expectant.

“So, you gave him a bit of Grace to lessen the Mark’s influence?” Sam asks.

“I did,” Cas nods.

“Thanks, Cas, this is… this is awesome. Thanks for helping him.”

Cas grimaces. “He wasn't too happy about it.”

“I bet he wasn't. But that’s Dean to you. He’s never happy when we do something for him.”

“I don’t understand why. He thinks it’s alright to sacrifice himself for others, but the contrary is wrong?”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I know someone just like that.”

“Who?” Cas asks, with genuine curiosity.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You, Cas. Didn’t you just do that? You just gave up some of your Grace for him, man. You and him have a lot in common, in case you don’t know.”

“I’d give him everything if I knew it would help him get rid of the Mark of Cain,” Cas said fervently. “I cannot bear to see him in danger.”

“Cas, you do realize we’re in danger practically 24/7, don’t you?”

“I meant imminent danger, Sam. I know your job puts you in danger practically every day. But…what I meant was… I would do anything I could to protect him. You too, of course. Even at the cost of my own life. This is just the way it is. ”

“Um… thanks, Cas. But I don’t think Dean would be pleased to see you giving all your – already borrowed – Grace to save him. He would never forgive himself if he let that happen.”

“I told him, this Grace is mine now, and I do with it what I please.”

“Cas, Dean has already a major guilt complex. If you died to save him, it would only add fuel to the fire.”

Cas seems to be in a dilemma. “I know that… if I’d get my own Grace back, I could give him small amounts of it until we could find another solution to his predicament. My own Grace would not ‘leak’ away from me like this one. But… I don’t even know if my true Grace still exists. Metatron says it does, but he’s been known to lie.”

“That’s an understatement, Cas.”

They stay in silence for a moment.

“Do you think I should leave?” Cas asks, frowning. “Dean seems to be angry with me again and… I’m not sure my presence is welcome here right now.”

Again, Dean feels a pang in his chest. Of course Cas feels this way. Dean asked him to leave, didn’t he? When Cas was human and had nowhere to go and no one to help him but Dean and Sam, Dean asked him to leave the bunker so ‘Ezekiel’ could do whatever he wanted with Sammy.

He’s such a crappy friend. He’s such a crappy human being in general.

“That’s not true!” Sam’s voice brings Dean back from his thoughts. “Dean would be very disappointed if you left, Cas. No, not disappointed, he would be devastated. He cares a lot about you.”

“He does?” Cas makes an eager, hopeful expression that gives Dean a funny feeling, like his stomach is flip-flopping inside him.

Sam nods. “We already talked about that. When we thought the Leviathans had killed you, he… he was in a really bad place, man. He started drinking more than he already does, I was about to beg him to go to the AA, I swear I could see a cirrhosis coming his way.”

“His liver is fine now,” Cas interrupts. “I fixed it last time I healed him. And of course, I removed some coronary atherosclerotic plaques as well. He eats too much saturated fat.”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

Cas goes on. “Oh, I did the same for you, Sam. You and Dean are in excellent health.”

“Um… thanks,” Sam says, with an awkward smile. “What was I saying?”

“That Dean cares about me,” Cas answers promptly with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘cause he kept your trench coat with him, man, and he took it everywhere!”

Cas shruggs. “He’s my best friend, Sam. And… I do not believe I could ever part ways with your brother. It’s already hard to get used to the idea that you’re… that _he_ is mortal; that one day he’ll not be around anymore. Anything I can do to prevent that from happening anytime soon… I will.”

Sam frowns and seems lost in thought for a few seconds. “Um… Cas… I know you and Dean share that great bond you talked about, but… are you sure it’s… you know, friendship?”

Dean feels his insides turning cold. What the fuck, Sammy?

Cas looks at him with huge eyes. “Of course Dean is my friend, Sam. So are you.”

But Sam, the fucker, doesn’t let it go. “No, what I mean is… look, when Dean and I were at this high school, there was this play about Supernatural and – “

“Dean told me about it.”

 

“Yeah, but did he tell about Destiel?” Sam goes on with a smirk. " 'Cause those girls read Chuck's books, and if they saw so much "subtext"... there must be some truth in it and..." Sam sighs. "Oh, never mind."

That seems to fly over Cas’s head, thank God. Fucking shit, Dean would kill Sammy right now if he could.

“Don’t even think about it,” Bobby says. “We’re not really here; neither are they, this conversation already happened.”

“Great,” Dean mutters. He doesn’t want to stay here anymore, but Bobby’s very solid hand on his shoulder doesn’t give him any other choice.

Sam seems to change his mind, though, and his face turns serious from one moment to the other. “Listen, Cas, whatever your feelings towards Dean are… I just want you to know I’m okay with it. I mean, if you and him want to be more than… you know… um…”

“I appreciate your support, Sam.  But I’m sure Dean doesn’t understand the nature of my feelings towards him. Nor does he reciprocate them. He… likes me, at best. I don’t think he understands the profound bond between us. At least on my part.”

Oh shit. _Ohshitohshitohshit._ And here Dean was thinking Cas wasn’t understanding what Sam was getting at. Did Cas mean what Dean thinks he meant?

“Cas…” Sam starts, looking at the angel with sympathy. “I love my brother. I really do. But I can’t be what he needs sometimes. I think he needs…I wish he would just let go once in a while and let someone take care of him, for a change. And when I see you doing that, when I see you taking care of Dean – even when he’s kicking and screaming against it – I … I feel so _relieved_ , you know? Because I know you’ll always be there for him. I know I’m not the only person he has; he has you too. I just want to say… thanks, Cas. Thank you for watching over my brother.”

“Of course, Sam. Thank you for listening. I consider you a great friend.”

“Yeah, you too, Cas,” Sam smiles.

 

…xxx...

 

Dean can’t look at Bobby. He’s mortified.

“Dean, boy, do I need to ask you what you understood from that conversation?”

“That Sam is an asshole? Yeah, I got that, Bobby, thanks.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “That Sam loves you very much. And so does your angel.”

“He’s not my angel!” Dean snaps. “He’s – he’s – “

“What, Dean?”

“He’s family!”

“And you love your family, don’t you? And your family loves you, right?”

“Yes! But there’s nothing to do with – “

“That’s not my point here. I was dragged from Heaven to make you see that there are people who love you. There’s your brother, there’s your angel friend. Those two stupid shmucks _love_ you. They think you’re worth _every_ damn sacrifice they have to make, because you matter for them. So, the Mark in your arm is giving you shit? _Fight it_. Because Sam and Cas are worth your sacrifice too, they believe in you and they expect you to not give into the bloodlust they know you feel. You got that?”

Dean deflates. He feels so, so tired. “It’s hard, Bobby. I want to fight, but…” he shrugs.

“You lack motivation? Haven’t those two given you motivation enough?”

“Maybe they would be better off without me.”

“Boy, you’re not the smartest cookie, are you? Of course they wouldn’t! Haven’t you heard what they just said? Didn’t you see all those damn pictures in Sam’s room? You’re their family too, idjit. They would do anything for you. This is more than most people have.”

“Yeah, okay, okay. I’ll try harder.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bobby smiles. “Speaking about that, it’s time for me to go.”

Dean grimaces. “You really have to?”

“You know I do.”

“I miss you, man,” Dean says, because he never told Bobby enough times how much he was important to him. Hell, even dead Bobby finds ways to help him.

“I miss you two idjits too, Dean,” Bobby’s eyes soften. “And I know we’ll be seeing each other on the other side someday. You don’t need to hurry to get there, though, ya hear me? So, take care, son.”

And Bobby disappears.

 

…xxx...

 

Predictably, Dean wakes up in his bedroom at three thirty. Sam is screaming again.

 

…xxx...

 

He runs to Sam’s bedroom and he can’t get inside because the place is full of…

“Moose?” he asks, bewildered.

“Reindeer, actually,” Sam explains, from somewhere in the bedroom. “I woke up and they were all here: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blixen and Rudolph.”

Dean tries to go to Sam, but the room is packed, and all he can see of his brother is the head anyway; so he stays where he is, by the door.  “Oh. And you know that how?”

“They have little signs around their necks with their names.”

They take them to the garage because it’s the only place they all fit comfortably. Of course, first they try to get rid of them, but they refuse to go out the door, because apparently, they’re following Sam. Everywhere he goes – even to the bathroom, he explains, ‘cause he already tried that – they follow. Oh! And Rudolph has indeed a very red nose.

“If this is someone’s idea of a prank, it’s not funny at all,” Sam, says.

“Dude, at least you didn’t wake up with antlers.”

“Ha ha ha, Dean, I’m laughing so hard.”

“Man, you stole Santa’s reindeer! You ruined Christmas for every child in the world!”

“I didn’t steal anything, jerk. I woke up and they were all there – Prancer was on my bed! Come on, help me feed them, ‘cause I think Rudolph here is trying to munch on my socks.”

“Eww. Poor animal, don’t want him poisoned. Where do you expect me to find food for these guys in the middle of the night? What do they eat?”

“I don’t know! Grass, maybe? Go ask Cas; he knows everything.”

At the mention of the angel, Dean turns serious again. “Um… you know where he is?”

“Last night he said he was going to stay in the library. He’s still trying to find an explanation for the curses.”

“This is more like a prank, man, If Gabriel weren’t dead, I would bet my money on him.”

“Yeah, but that’s so not the point, Dean. Even if it’s harmless, how come this is happening _inside_ the bunker? And how come nothing’s affecting you?”

Oops. Wrong question, Sammy.; something _is_ affecting Dean. He just doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Erm… I’m gonna look for Cas, okay? Before the reindeer decide to eat our food.”

He leaves Sam in the garage with the animals and goes back inside the bunker. Cas is not in the living room, or in the kitchen. Maybe he’s still in the library. But everything is quiet, there’s not a single sound coming from anywhere, and then…

“Assbutt.” Cas’ voice is gruffier than ever. “Not inside my pocket too!”

Dean peaks around the corner, to the library’s door. Cas is sitting on a couch, with a book in his hands and…

There are mistletoes. Lots and lots of them. Every fucking where. Cas is, in fact,  surrounded by them.

“What the hell, man?” Dean asks.

Cas raises his head, looking at Dean tiredly. “You can come inside. These herbs aren’t dangerous.”

“Herbs?” Dean asks, smirking. “Dude, this is mistletoe! The most Christmas-y plant in the world!”

“I ‘m aware, Dean.”

“What happened, man? Why is the place full of them?” Dean sits on the couch, beside Cas.

“Oh, I believe is the same predicament that afflicted me and Sam yesterday; at least the pattern seems to be the same: three-thirty in the morning, something odd but not threatening happens to Sam and me. It will probably go away in the morning.”

“Sam is surrounded by reindeer.”

“I heard you, when you tried to take them out. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, but the plants tend to relocate to whatever room I find myself in.”

“Well, that sucks,” Dean eyes the book in Cas’ hands. A small bouquet appears out of nowhere in Cas’ hand. The angel scolds and casts the thing aside.

“I was reading this book about Norse mythology. There’s something very interesting here, and I think it might be related to all this.”

“Really? What did you find?”

“Did you ever hear the story of Baldur? He was a god related to goodness, peace and forgiveness.”

“That’s so not he way I remember him, man,” Dean says, thinking about the freezer full of people about to be turned into dinner to the gods in that creepy ‘convention’ he and Sam went to. The same one where the devil killed everyone, Gabriel included. “But, uh, go ahead.”

“Well, his mother was a goddess, Frigga. When he was born, she made every animal, plant and object promise not to harm him, but she forgot the mistletoe. So, another god, Hod, took advantage of that and killed Baldur with a dart of sharpened mistletoe to his heart. Baldur’s death brought winter into the world and the gods eventually brought him back to life. Later, Frigga pronounced the mistletoe sacred, ordering that instead of death it should bring love into the world.“

“So?”

“Well, the tradition to kiss someone under the mistletoe is in fact a wish of love and peace among friends.”

Dean suddenly realizes that he and Cas are sitting a little too close. And…is he imagining things or Cas is looking at his lips? Huh. “I don’t get it, Cas… what does this have to do with anything?” he asks, harrumphing.

Cas blinks several times and shakes his head a little. “Oh. Yes, um… I said that Hod killed Baldur. But Hod didn’t really mean to do that, he was tricked into killing him by another god: Loki.”

Oh, really? Come on, this guy again? “You mean _Loki_ Loki or Gabriel Loki?”

“Gabriel disappeared from Heaven before the beginning of times. I think it’s safe to assume that he and Loki were always the same person.”

“Oh, crap, don’t tell me Gabe is behind this! But how? He’s dead!”

“Although it pains me to say this, I believe my brother fits the definition of an ‘asshole’, Dean. He faked his own death more than once. It’s possible that he’s hiding somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised. This could be Gabriel's idea of a joke.”

“Sam’s gonna love this. But wait, and the reindeer?”

“It’s possible that the animals have something to do with Santa Claus’ story, because the Dutch figure of Sinterklass – which came in fact from the Greek bishop Saint Nicholas and originated the legend – absorbed some elements of the Norse god Odin, when Europe was Christianized.”

“So, back to the Norse gods, eh?”

“I believe so, yes.”

As if on cue, Dean’s cell phone starts to ring. “It’s Sam.”

_“Dean, they’re trying to eat my jacket! Have you talked to Cas yet?”_

…xxx...

 

In the end, the solution is very simple for all parts involved: Cas goes to the garage – taking the mistletoe with him – and while they tell Sam about Cas’ suspicions, the reindeer start to eat the plant.

“I’m glad everything ended well,” Dean says.

They’re sitting on the floor while, on the background, the animals are having a real good time with so much food.

“Wow, it makes so much sense!” Sam says, excited, while reading the book. “Get this: In the tales, Loki is portrayed as a scheming coward who cares only for pleasures and self-preservation. He’s by turns playful, malicious and helpful. But he’s always irreverent and nihilistic.”

“Helpful?” Dean snorts, looking around.

“Don’t forget Gabriel helped us with opening the portal to the cage, Dean,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, but he killed me what, a hundred times?”

“He has a very particular definition of funny,” Cas agrees.

Sam is still excited. “Hey, there’s more: ‘Loki is the mother – yes, the _mother_ – of Sleipnir, Odin’s shamanic horse, whom Loki gave birth to after shapeshifting into a mare and courting the stallion Svaöilfari’, yadda yadda yadda… guys, I had totally forgotten this… Loki can turn into anyone! It means that I didn’t see the devil in my dream, neither Cas saw Meg: it was him all the time!”

“It’s an interesting theory, indeed. But we’re not sure it’s him. He’s still presumed dead,” Cas argues.

“ _Presumed_ being the key word, Cas! Don’t you see? Everything makes sense now!” Sam says.

Beside them, Dean is quiet. If Cas and Sam are right, and Gabriel is behind everything… then it was the fucker all the time? While Dean talked to Samuel and Bobby, it was in fact Gabriel in disguise?  Oh, how he must have laughed at the display of Dean’s pathetic childhood, or, or… God, the talk between Sam and Cas! Did Gabriel see _that_? Or worse, he could have _invented_ everything, and there are no cute pictures of Dean and his brother in Sam’s room, and Cas didn’t say how much he cares about Dean… it was Gabriel all the time, having a laugh at Dean’s expense?

He’s gonna kill that poor excuse for an angel. Norse god. Whatever. If he’s not dead already, he’s gonna be pretty soon.

“Dean!” Sam and Cas are calling his name.

“Sorry, guys, I spaced out.”

There’s some kind of fog everywhere and, one by one, the reindeer start to disappear, along with all the mistletoe. Looking at his watch, Dean realizes it’s exactly six AM.

“Well, now the carriage turns into pumpkin again,” Dean says.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam hurries out of the garage. “I smell like hay.”

“You smell like a whole farm, Sammy!” Dean laughs, even if he’s not feeling too cheery right now.

“Um… Dean?” Cas asks, and hey, when did he get so close?

“Cas?” Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Scandinavians believed mistletoe to be a plant of peace and it was customary to have enemies declare a truce while standing underneath. Therefore, mistletoe represents long lasting friendship.”

“And?”

“They also believed it to be bad luck if two friends don’t kiss under the mistletoe; something to do with the friendship ending.” Cas puts a small bouquet in Dean’s hand. “I don’t want our friendship to end, Dean. You’re my best friend.”

Then Cas blushes, of all things, gives Dean a small peck on the cheek and leaves the garage as fast as he can.

Dean looks at the bouquet in his hands, mesmerized. He can still feel Cas’ lips on his cheek, when the mistletoe magically disappears from his hand, along with the rest of the fog moments later.

 

…xxx...

 

Now that they think they know what’s going on, it’s easier to find some books about Norse gods and mythology. Whatever the hell is happening in the bunker, it’s happening to all of them, Dean knows, even if Cas and Sam think they’re the only ones affected.

Surprisingly, they don’t ask why nothing’s happening to Dean. He’s glad for that, even if it’s a little bit strange, because Sam and Cas are not the types to let something like this go unnoticed. Anyway, even if they asked, he wouldn’t tell them anything. First, because he doesn’t want to talk about it; second, because now that he thinks a trickster is behind this, a dull ache has started deep in his chest and he can’t shake it off.

He was annoyed when Samuel appeared. He was _more_ than annoyed when he started showing Dean all the sad, sad Christmases he’d had after his mom’s death. And he was _three times_ more annoyed when Samuel gave him that stupid talk about being a good man and deserving whatever the fuck he thought Dean deserves. Dean didn’t care; it was bullshit anyway.

But then, Bobby came and… well Dean _likes_ Bobby. He was his father in so many ways John wasn’t – even if Dean loved his dad with everything he was. But Bobby gave him and Sammy some kind of normalcy, some domesticity they never got to have with John.

When Bobby showed him how much Sammy cherishes their relationship, the weight inside Dean – the one he feels whenever he thinks of how sad Sam's childhood was – lessened a little. He knows he failed Sam, and if somehow he turned out alright, it has more to do with Sam himself than with Dean or even John. So, to know that Sam loves him, it’s… it’s everything.

When Bobby showed Sam and Cas talking and Dean saw Cas vowing to protect him, so determined to be there for him, Dean just… There was this _light_ in Cas’ eyes when he talked about Dean, like he is someone _special_ … and Dean, he…he _wants to_ _deserve_ Cas’ devotion, he wants to keep him and _just this time_ , he doesn’t want to regret his presence in someone’s life; the way he regrets so many things.

Then, to think it was all Loki’s scam? It makes Dean’s blood boil, makes him angry and… whenever he’s like this, he feels the Mark of Cain burning a little. Like a snake about to pounce on its prey. Waiting for him to fall, to give into the blood lust. But, this time, the blood lust isn’t there.

And this takes him back to the start, because he knows this was Cas’ doing; Cas, giving him a bit of his Grace, wanting to take care of Dean, even at his own expense. They make him feel funny, all these proofs that Cas is there for him, because he knows he’s damaged goods, he doesn’t believe in himself the way Sam and Cas do.

And yet… he wants to be what they need. What _Cas_ needs. He wants to be enough. So much.

He doesn’t even want to think about the Christmas decorations tonight. But he opens the box anyway, because tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and he was excited about it before, so Sam and Cas will notice if they think Dean is in a bad mood.

After diner, he hangs some of the plastic icicles and candy canes on the tree. Cas is particularly fond of the stars, and he and Sam start hanging them in a pattern of sizes and colors that would be funny – because Sam is, in fact, a giant girl – if Dean gave a shit about Christmas right now.

“What happened, Dean?” Cas asks at some point, because it seems that Cas is always paying attention to Dean’s every move, and Dean knows he’s unusually quiet tonight.

“Nothing, man. Just tired. Sam’s screams have been keeping me awake two nights in a row; I think I need some sleep. Um… “

“You should rest, then. Maybe go to sleep earlier?” Cas offers, helpful. “Sam and I can finish this.”

“Sure, Cas, huh… you do that. Good night, guys.”

Dean hides in his bedroom the rest of the night, but he brings with him ‘A Christmas Carol’, because he doesn’t understand why what’s happening to him has anything to do with the Norse gods thing. He wants to read the book and maybe understand what’s going on.

There seem to be two completely different things happening: Dean is turning into Scrooge, with his own private Christmas ghosts, and some supernatural thing is playing stupid pranks on Sam and Cas. If they were not happening at the same time, Dean would think that one thing has nothing to do with the other. But they are, so there’s gotta be something that connects the two.

The story is not so boring as Dean thought it would be. But he gets a little offended by the comparison: Scrooge was a despicable person, the kind that kicked puppies, put kittens in the trash to die and loved money above all else.

Dean is nothing like that. For him, money is just a means to an end; a tool, because rich people die the same way poor people do: alone. When it’s your time to go, it doesn’t matter who you are. When the reaper comes for you, there’s nothing you can do. Well, except if you’re Sam and Dean Winchester. Luckily, no one else is.

He falls asleep before he can finish the book. When Scrooge is about to meet the Ghost of Christmas Future, Dean closes his eyes and start dreaming.

 

…xxx...

 

“Dean? Wake up, son,” says a man’s voice. A voice Dean knows too well, because it’s his dad’s.

Dean is awake immediately, but he’s so afraid to open his eyes and see Gabriel’s stupid face that he pretends to be asleep for a few seconds more. But then someone else calls his name, _‘Dean?’_ , a woman, and he can’t help but open his eyes and gulp, hoping against hope that his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

“Mom? Dad?”

“Hey, son,” John says, with a soft smile. He looks good, happy, and that’s a big change.

Mary looks at him tenderly, and Dean’s heart aches so much he thinks he’s gonna start sobbing any minute now. He doesn’t, though. He just stays there, lying on his bed while his mother cups his face with one soft hand. “Hi, baby. Time to get up.”

God, he misses her so much.

“We don’t have much time, son,” John says, just like the other ghosts did, and Dean sits up, meaning to follow them. “We need to get going.”

But he remembers something and raises a hand in warning. “Wait. I need to know you’re really you. There’s been some confusion around here, and someone is playing pranks on Sam… he could be shape shifting into you guys, and…” he shrugs. “I just gotta know.”

“Bravo, son,” John says. “Never trust anyone, especially your dead parents.” He smiles, proudly. “But if you’re worried we’re Tricksters, I suggest you get one of the angel blades you have in your room and try to kill us.”

“Wait, how do you know I have an – “

“Dean, we’re your parents. We’ve been looking at you and Sam from time to time.”

The angel blade makes the ghosts disappear, as Dean thought it would. But if they were Gabriel, or even a shapeshifter, they would have died, not vanished. So, yeah, these are really John and Mary Winchester.

“Sam will get so mad at missing this,” Dean says to himself, while he waits for them to reappear.

They don’t take too long.

“I see you turned into a great hunter,” John says. John is different; his eyes are softer; he looks like the John Dean remembers from before the fire.

“Not so great, Dad,” Dean sighs.

“Oh, come one, everybody makes mistakes. You’re human, that’s what humans do. I’m, sure you remember that I made many. As a husband,” he links his fingers with Mary’s, and they smile at each other, “as a father and yes, as a hunter too. But the key part, Dean, the important part, is that I kept trying. I started seeking revenge, but I helped a lot of people with the job. I guess that counted in the end, because I got into Heaven, didn’t I?”

“About that, Dad…” Dean says, frowning a little, deep in thought. “After you escaped Hell, you disappeared in the cemetery in a flash of white light… you went to Heaven, then?”

John nodded. “I saved you and helped killing Azazel. I guess that granted me my ticket.”

“Hum…” Dean looks at his mother. “And Mom was already there?”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Son… I had made I deal with a demon… I went to Hell when I died.”

 _“What_?” Dean yelps. “But – But I saw you in Heaven, Mom!”

She shakes her Head. “No, baby, you didn’t. That was probably a projection, you saw me in your particular heaven, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but… you were in Hell all this time?”

Mary smiles. “I was raised as a hunter, Dean. Don’t worry, I always knew how to take care of myself. When you went to Hell, I was there all the time, but I was forbidden to talk to you. I’m sorry, baby…”

“But you’re in Heaven now? How come?”

“God put me there.”

“God?” Dean frowns even deeper. But God hasn’t been around since forever, right? “When. Mom?”

Now it’s Mary turn to frown. “I thought you knew about this, since he was your friend…! The one that took God’s place some time ago, and then disappeared. He was a nice young angel, dark hair, blue eyes… he wore dark suit and a tan trench coat and he went to Hell exclusively to free all the people who had been tricked by demons and take them to Heaven. I thought he’d told you, Dean.”

“Cas?!?” Dean can’t believe what she’s saying. God-Cas freed his mother from Hell? And he didn’t think it was important for Dean to know that?

“Mary, Dean…” John says, “We really need to go.”

Dean nods absently. Mary kisses him on the cheek. “I’m fine now, Dean, so you don’t need to worry about me. I found your father in Heaven and now we’re together like it was meant to be.”

 

…xxx...

 

The white corridor is still there, with the bright walls and only two doors again. John stops in front of the right one and Mary in front of the one on the left.

John speaks first. “As you must have guessed, son, we’re your Ghosts from Christmas Future. We’re here to show two possible futures for you. How your future is going to be, depending on the decisions you make.”

“We know you have this Mark on your arm, but it doesn’t make you a bad man, or even a demon, automatically. You need to give into the temptation,” Mary says.

“I already did, Mom.” 

“But you came back. And now you have another chance. So we want you to take it,” she said smiling.

“But it’s up to you,” John finishes.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay, where do I start?”

“We need to start with my door,” says John, opening it. “This will show you how it’s gonna be if you don’t start believing you’re a good person, that you’re worthy of redemption.”

Dean snorts. “Easier said than done, Dad.”

“I know. But if you don’t at least try, Dean… _this_ is what’s gonna happen.”

Dean steps inside… the bunker’s main room.

The place seems empty and desolate. Dean is sitting in an armchair, watching an old Christmas movie. Alone. He has a beer in his hand, and on the floor next to him feet, three more bottles, all of them empty, and a plate with half a sandwich.

He looks older. His hair remains short as ever, but he can see silvery reflections in it, especially near the temples. He seems a little chubbier too. He’s wearing… an old bathrobe over dark blue pajamas, and there are slippers beside the chair.

He looks pathetic. Like an old man whose family forgot he exists.

“Where is everybody?” he asks John.

“Where’s who?” his father answers. “There’s nobody, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief and walks further. Nobody? Not even Sam?

As if on cue, Sam comes from the kitchen, an empty glass in his hands. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asks, looking at the sad old man his brother turned into.

Sam looks… fine. His hair is a little bit shorter, and the gray in it gives him a respectable look.

“You know I don’t like parties,” old Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s not a party, Dean, is dinner with your family!”

“ _Your_ family, you mean.”

“Yes! Because my family is your family too, jerk!” Sam loses his patience and goes inside the kitchen again. He comes back with a satchel and a brown jacket on his   arms. “Evelyn and the kids are your family too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Old Dean sighs, tiredly. “Go home with your wife and kids, Sam, spend Christmas with them, open some presents, have some eggnog. And when come back to work on Monday, leave the bitch face home, please.”

“Asshole,” Sam says, almost affectionately. “You know, if you hadn’t driven Cas away, you could – “

“Cas went home to his angel family, Sam!” old Dean almost yells. “He’s better off without us. And you know damn well we’re better off without him!”

Old Dean starts scratching his right arm, and Dean knows what he’s scratching at: The Mark of Cain is still with him.

“No, I don’t! And we’re not! Look around, Dean, do you see someone here?”

“Yeah, I see me, the boss, a hunter as sharp as ever, holding the fort while the other boss and the employees enjoy the holidays! What’s wrong with this picture, huh?”

“What’s wrong is that you’re alone, half-drunk and bitter, old man. Come on… come with me. You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”

“I can’t leave the bunker alone.”

“The place is warded and we installed all sort of alarms.”

Old Dean sighs. “Leave me alone, Sam, please. Go home, okay? I’m fine.”

Sam grimaces, but then he pats Dean’s back awkwardly and says, “Alright. Merry Christmas, Dean. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy, and don’t bother. Sleep in at least one day in your freaking nerdy life, for Christ’s sake!”

The door closes with a bang. Dean sighs tiredly again and gets up, slowly, shuffling to the kitchen, where he grabs his old and good friend Jim Beam and starts drinking right from the bottle.

He passes out on the kitchen floor before midnight.

 

…xxx...

 

Real Dean shudders. _This_ is what will happen to him?

“I always thought that I’d die early,” he says. “And violently. Never worried about getting old and alone, ‘cause I never thought I’d get there, you know?”

“That’s a very sad future, son.”

Dean feels ashamed of himself. He’s going to be a disappointment to his father even after the guy died? “I’d rather die young, Dad. Did you see how much of a fail – how pathetic I am?” He snorts. “Not that it surprises me. But I’m sorry, for all that’s worth. But hey, Sammy, Sammy is alright!” Dean gives his father a forced smile. “A wife and kids, you heard him?”

John’s ghost shakes his head, sadly. “Dean, you don’t have to take care of Sam anymore. He’s a grown man. He’s bigger than you! Look, I know I told you to take care of him, and maybe… maybe I exaggerated a little, because I never told you when to stop. I never told you to take care of yourself too, son. I’m sorry.”

Before Dean can answer, he feels his mother’s hand on his arm. “Why don’t you open my door now?” she asks. “What you saw was only one possible future. Maybe you should take a look at the other one before you give up on yourself.”

Dean snorts, incredulous, but opens the other door.

 

…xxx...

 

He’s inside the bunker’s main room again. But now there’s a _huge_ Christmas three right in the middle of it. There’s a great smell coming from the kitchen too, and in the background, Dean can hear soft music playing.

Someone’s in the kitchen, cursing and banging plates and pans. There are mistletoes hanging from every door. The place looks more like a home than anything.

“Dean!” Cas comes from the kitchen, holding a spatula. Despite wearing an apron – a red one, with a huge ‘ _kiss the cook’_ written on it – he’s covered in flour.  Even his hair and nose are white.

“Yes, Cas?” Dean’s face appears from the library, and here he comes, holding a bunch of old records and – whoa! He looks completely different from the Dean they just saw behind the other door. His hair still has some gray in it, but it’s a little bit longer, styled with gel in a fashion way, and he’s well dressed, with dark jeans and a blue button down, the long sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

And he can’t see The Mark of Cain on his arm. That’s… great.

“Don’t let Tobiah inside the kitchen,” Cas says. “I just left the turkey on the table and the pie is in the oven now.”

“Toby is outside. He was getting antsy, spending the whole day in the bunker with a bunch of hunters.”

Cas smiles. “How did our dog get so big?”

“I know, right?” Dean snorts.

“I still question how wise it is to have a dog in our line of work.”

“Hey, he’s psychic! He can feel when there’s something evil around!”

Cas crosses his arms. “Dean Winchester, I will not let you take our dog on hunts anymore. He’s old. If he gets killed or hurt, you will – “

“Okay, Cas, okay,” Dean smiles, happily, pulling Cas to him. “I’ll just leave him here to protect the bunker, alright? And the others can take care of him when we’re not around.”

“We’re getting old too,” Cas smiles, looking at Dean tenderly.

“Yeah, but we’re like wine, we get better with age.” Dean buries his hands on Cas’ soft hair.

“You’re going to get flour on your clothes,” Cas protests.

“It’s worth it,” Dean smiles, and he kisses Cas softly on the lips.

Real Dean almost has a heart attack. _What?_

Cas nuzzles Dean’s cheek. “Will you take care of the pie for me? I set the timer, you just need to take it from the oven and put in the counter. I still need to shower and get ready. It’s almost time for our guests to arrive.”

“Guests? You know I don’t like parties, Cas. Who did you invite, besides Sam and his gang?”

“Only family, of course. Sam, Evelyn and the kids, Charlie and Dorothy, Jody, Claire and her boyfriend, Ed and Harry.”

“And your brothers?”

“Only two or three.”

“Mhm. And did you remember to make enough food for the guys at the front office? The kids have never spent a Christmas Eve working, poor sods.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas smiles. “After all, they are the ones answering the phone and taking calls tonight while we get to spend the holidays together.”

“Yeah, it’s good we’re not covered in ghost ectoplasm this time. Remember last year?”

Cas shudders. “How can I forget?”

“Guys! We’re here!” Sam’s voice comes from the entrance.

“Go talk to your brother, I still need to shower! And don't forget the pie.” Cas says, escaping Dean’s arms.

“One more kiss for good luck,” Dean whispers.

“I hope you know that your shirt is covered if flour now,” Cas deadpans, and kisses Dean anyway.

As soon as Cas goes through a door, Sam comes from the other, and he engulfs Dean in a bear hug right away.

Dean’s laugh is contagious. “Sammy, look at your shirt now! It’s all white!”

 

…xxx...

 

“Um…” Dean doesn’t know where to look. Did he just kiss his _male_ angel friend in front of his parents?

“Oh,” Mary says, smiling. “That’s him, the angel I was talking about.”

Dean gulps. “Cas… that’s Cas, my – my friend.”

“Baby,” Mary looks at him tenderly, “These futures depend on you, and you alone. You’re a good man. You deserve all the happiness you can get; but you need to go out there and get it, because it won’t come to you if you don’t fight for it.”

John looks at him seriously. “Dean, all we want is for you to be happy. We don’t care whom you’re with, as long as you feel like your mother and I feel when we’re together.”

Did John just give Dean his blessing to live, as in, _live_ , with Cas?  Wait! Is Dean even _considering_ the idea? What the Fuck?

He is, isn’t he? Shit.

Since that stupid play, he’s been thinking about him and Cas and their weird friendship, with its too long stares, sacrifices, lack of personal space… has it always been like that? If he’s true to himself, he’s always felt a little different around the angel. But he has never thought about… well, not consciously, anyway.

He remembers the other day, when he said he’s not much of a role model, and Cas said ‘ _that’s not true’_ … Cas’ expression was almost… tender, and so true, like he really believed what he said. Dean remembers how he blushed, and he had to look away, because something is his heart fluttered and he just couldn’t…

Cas told Sam he likes him. Does he like Cas back?

“Huh… okay, I… can we not talk about this right now?” Dean asks, looking at the floor. Then he remembers something else. “Hey, how come I didn’t have the Mark in the second scene?“

It’s Mary who answers. “Because of the choices you made in that future.”

“So, you guys came here to help me get rid of the Mark?”  Dean asks.

“Not exactly,” Mary bites her lip. “We’re here to give you a very special gift, a gift that can change your life. It can, at the same time, lead you to put the Mark of Cain to rest.”

“How do I do that, then?”

“Believe you are a good man, son. That’s all you need,” John ruffles Dean’s hair, as if he were still a child. “Believe it, because it’s true. Only you can help yourself, no one else.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “ _This_ is what I have to do?” Great. This is a bunch of bullshit. “Dad, this is not gonna work. All I do is fail. I’m, like… 90% crap.”

Mary shakes her head. “We’ve given you the tools. Now you need to do it alone. We can’t believe in yourself for you. But, once you do that… good things, amazing things will follow. And now,” she says softly, “We have to go.”

“Already?” Dean protests. He has so much to tell them…! He wants Sam to see them, talk to them… he wants to –

“Dean,” John says, smiling, and suddenly Dean sees himself in his father’s arms. It’s been a long time – even when he was alive – since John last hugged Dean like that. “I love you, son. Never forget that. And I’m so, so proud of you. Tell Sam we’re okay and happy, and we love him.”

Mary’s hug is softer, her warm arms enveloping Dean in a blanket of peace he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. “You’re the best son and brother in the world. Remember that, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” he promises, even if he thinks she’s wrong, because what else can he say? He can barely speak, there’s something heavy in is heart and in his throat, and everything _hurts_ , because he knows he will probably never see them again.

“There will never come a time when I don’t love you with everything I am,” Mary says, kissing Dean’s cheek. “And Sam too. Give him a kiss for me, okay? And, Dean…” she blinks at him, “I guess I was right when I said angels were watching over you, wasn’t I? At least one angel is. Open your eyes, baby. You need to see what’s right in front of you.”

John smiles again and says, “I meant what I said; all I want is for you to be happy. Oh, and Dean… I suggest next time you open a box, you read the warnings written on it. But I’m glad you didn’t, because we got to see each other again.”

With that, they disappear.

 

…xxx...

 

Dean opens his eyes, and they already feel heavy and puffy. He knows he’s crying, and he does nothing to stop the tears this time. He lets them come freely, and for a few minutes, he stays in his bed, looking at the ceiling, while hot tears stream down his face.

He has a lot of thinking to do.

He also needs to tell Sam that he just saw their parents. He needs to figure out how to get rid of the Mark, and all that _‘believing in himself’_ crap they kept talking about... It’s like John and Mary spoke in riddles. Sam is smart; Sam will help him figure out how Dean believing he’s worth anything will help him get rid of the thing in his arm.

But before he can even start, Sam comes and opens his door with a heavy bang. He looks… normal, but he stops in front of Dean with huge, frightened eyes. If he notices Dean's been crying, he doesn't say anything. 

“Sam?” Dean sits up, frowning, looking at his brother expectantly, because as far as he can see, there’s nothing wrong with Sam this time.

Then Sam opens his mouth and… sings.

_“Help! I need somebody!_

_Help! Not just anybody!_

_Help! You know I need someone!_

_He-e-elp!”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCGvZgDvtkU_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCGvZgDvtkU) _)_

…xxx...

 

‘So, we can assume it’s the same thing that’s been happening these past two days,” Dean says. “It’s a little past three-thirty, check. You have this… whatever it is, it’s not life-threatening, check.”

Dean and Sam are sitting on Dean’s bed. Sam has his elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his face. He only nods when Dean speaks.

“Oh, God, I have no idea how to help you. I guess we just gotta wait for this to pass, like the other times.”

Sam sings.

_“_ _I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink_

_I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink_

_I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink_

_No,no,no.”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZodBYQ4pJ0M_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZodBYQ4pJ0M) _)_

“Dude, drinking won’t solve anything. I know, believe me. Been there, done that.”

The only way for Sam to answer is singing, so he just gives Dean the finger. He’s been like that since he woke up. Dean’s heart aches for the poor guy, but he has to admit it’s a little funny.

“Come on, let’s look for Cas. I’m almost afraid to see what happened to him this time.” Dean says, getting up and pulling Sam with him.

They don’t find Cas in any of the usual places. He’s not in the kitchen, nor in the library, nor in the main room. Dean and Sam are almost giving up when they see his clothes in a heap on the floor.

“Crap, you think someone took him?”  Dean asks.

Sam only shrugs, but he comes closer, kneels by the clothes and touches them. They move.

“What the fuck?”

Sam lifts the coat on the floor and under it, there’s a baby. He can’t be more than one and a half, with unkempt dark hair and he’s naked. He’s sleeping peacefully, with a soft smile on his lips. Dean can bet he has blue eyes.

Shit. It’s Cas.

_“Sleep, Baby Sleep_

_Sleep, baby sleep._

_Thy father guards the sheep_

_Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree,_

_Dawn falls a little dream for thee,_

_Sleep, baby sleep._

_Sleep, baby sleep.”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Df3AaoLeuVU_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Df3AaoLeuVU) _)_

“Really, Sammy?” Dean snorts, while Sam carefully picks the baby from the floor to take him to the couch. When he turns baby Cas on his arms, though, Dean can see two tiny white wings on the baby’s back.

It’s really Cas. “He’s a baby angel,” Dean whispers, mesmerized, trying not to wake him up. He has no idea what they will do once Cas is awake. He doesn’t know how much awareness Cas kept in his actual condition.

His question is answered as soon as Sam tries to put the baby on the couch. Cas wakes up and starts crying, squirming and looking around with very blue eyes. When he sees Dean, he raises his chubby arms to him and smiles through the tears.

“Dean! Hug.”

“What?” Dean says.

“Hug, Dean!” Cas insists, impatient.

“Huh… you’re naked, Cas,” Dean says, side eyeing Sam.

Sam is giving Dean bitch face #12, and Dean can almost hears him saying ‘ _Dude, he is a baby_ ’, but Sam starts singing again.

_“I believe the children are our future,_

em>Teach them well and let them lead the way,

_Show them all the beauty they possess insi-i-ide”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYzlVDlE72w_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYzlVDlE72w) _)_

“Okay, okay, I get it, Sammy!” Dean says, picking up little Cas and cradling him in his arms. He knows how to hold a baby; he held Sam more times than he can count.

_“Give them a sense of pride to make it easier._

_Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be…”_ Sam continues, smiling when Cas nuzzles Dean’s cheek.

“Alright, alright, I get it, I’ll treat him well.”

Cas sighs happily and gets comfortable in Dean’s arms, resting his little head on his shoulder and yawning. His hair is soft and smells of green apples, and Dean wonders if adult Cas’ hair smells that good.

_What? Did he just think that?_

Well, shit… he did.

“Um… Sam, give me something to cover him. Okay? I know he’s a baby, but it’s still Cas and… what if he turns to normal right now and – “

Sam’s laugh is so loud it startles the baby, and the little guy whimpers. But he goes to the bedroom and he comes back with a blanket, helping Dean to arrange it around Cas like a cocoon.

“If you gonna scare him, you better stay away, then,” Dean complains, in protective mode.

Dean hopes Sam will only snort this time, but no. The fucker found a way to make fun of Dean singing. Great.

_“You don't have to touch it to know,_

_Love is everywhere you go,_

_You don't have to touch it to feel,_

_Love is every second we steal…”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jejNnxlAkRM_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jejNnxlAkRM) _)_

“Shut up, bitch.”

_“You're a jerk! I know..._

_You're a jerk! I know..._

_You're a jerk! I know..._

_You're a jerk! I know...”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qv9VKKXwVxU_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qv9VKKXwVxU) _)_

“Oh my God, go away! At least sing something decent!”

Sam laughs again, and goes to the kitchen, probably to make coffee, because it’s clear they’re gonna spend the night awake again.

Cas sleeps like a baby – well, he _is_ a baby now. Only, sometimes, he opens his eyes a little and looks at Dean, almost as if he wants to make sure he’s still in his lap. He even grabs a fistful of Dean’s shirt with one chubby hand.  

Once Sam comes back, Dean tries to put Cas on the couch, because he won’t have hot coffee with a baby on his lap, but Cas wakes up every time and starts whimpering.

_“Love is a many splendored thing!_

_It's the April rose,_

_That only grows in the early spring._

_Love is nature's way of giving,_

_A reason to be living,_

_The golden crown that makes a man a king!”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnDtxiNwDS8_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnDtxiNwDS8) _)_

“Ha ha, very funny,” Dean says, adjusting the baby on his lap again. “You’re gonna scare him even more with this voice, asshole.”

Sam motions for Dean to follow him, and they end up on Dean’s bedroom. Once there, he fluffs the pillows and puts baby Cas to sleep on them. Cas threatens to cry, but as soon as he feels Dean’s smell in the pillows, he stops.

“You’re a genius,” Dean whispers.

They leave the door open and go to Sam’s room, because it’s beside Dean’s, so they’ll hear if Cas starts crying again.

“Sammy, I need to tell you something,” Dean starts. “I know I shoulda told you before, but with all that was happening, I just… and I didn’t want to talk about it and…”

“Mhm,” is all Sam says; it’s all he can say without bursting into song.

Dean tells him everything, starting with Samuel’s visit, then Bobby’s, then his parents’. He tells all about the things he saw behind all the doors he opened – except, maybe, that he and Cas were together, like, _together_ – and about how he felt when he saw them. When he tells Sam he listened to his and Cas’ talk, Sam only nods, as if confirming that it everything happened like Dean saw.

Then, Dean tells Sam about John and Mary. He tells him about how happy they were, and that they showed him two possible futures, depending on his decisions. That he had to believe he was a good man. He says he has no idea what they were talking about.

But, apparently, Sam knows.

_“Lonely, the path you have chosen,_

_A restless road, no turning back,_

_One day you will find your light again,_

_Don't you know,_

_Don't let go, be strong. ”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ce8HZ2keKwk_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ce8HZ2keKwk) _)_

“Dude, where do you get these songs?” Dean tries to joke, but Sam looks at him firmly.

_“You just call out my name,_

_and you know where ever I am_

_I'll come running to see you again._

_Winter, spring, summer, or fall,_

_all you have to do is call and I'll be there,_

_yeah, yeah,_

_you've got a friend.”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEkIou3WFnM_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEkIou3WFnM) _)_

“I know I can count on you, Sammy. But they talked about believing in myself, a mumbo-jumbo that was almost in riddles, I swear, it was almost like the Jedi Code or something like that. All the crap about self-knowledge leading to happiness… I don’t know, man. Seemed like a bunch of crap.”

_“Never gonna give you up,_

_Never gonna let you down,_

_Never gonna run around and desert you.”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_b7RDuLwcI_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_b7RDuLwcI) _)_

“Yeah, I know. But I for a moment there, I hoped they were gonna tell me something useful about The Mark of Cain. They even said it could be… contained, they didn’t say I could get rid of it, they said it could be contained. But when I asked them, they started with the Jedi bull shit again.”

_“Oh you can be what you wanna be,_

_See what you wanna see,_

_Believe in yourself,_

_just believe in yourself…!”_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rI2y0yUdIo8_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rI2y0yUdIo8) _)_

“Sammy, I really need your input in this, but let’s just wait until the morning, okay? I can’t stand you singing anymore, dude.”

Sam shrugs and smiles apologetically. Then they hear Cas’ voice from Dean’s bedroom. And he sounds really distressed.

“Dean? _My Dean_?”

Dean’s eyes widen comically, and Sam starts laughing again. He even opens his mouth, probably to sing, but Dean raises a finger, saying “Don’t even start, Sammy.”

He runs to his bedroom and Cas is sitting in the middle of the bed, crying, looking everywhere for Dean.

“I’m here, Cas, I’m here,” he soothes.

Cas raises his little arms at him again. “Hug?”

“Yeah, come on, you like to cuddle, don’t you?”

Dean lays the baby on the bed again, but this time, he lays down beside Cas and ends up having to hug him because the little guy doesn’t want to let go of his shirt.

Cas is sleepy again as soon as his head touches the pillow. Apparently being a baby is tiring, even for angels.

“Luv’ya, Dean,” he murmurs, eyes almost closed.

Dean stops. _This_ is the thing, the huge pink elephant in the room, isn’t it? He knows Cas loves him. He _knows_ it. In fact, he knew even before he heard his conversation with Sam. It’s evident, in the way Cas looks at him, in the way he stands too close, in the way he does _everything_ he can for Dean – and even his worst mistakes, deep down, were for Dean, weren’t they?

And Dean… Dean loves, Cas, of course he does. He almost said that in the crypt, when Cas was punching him, when Cas was about to kill him. But even then, he couldn’t say it. Shit, he hardly ever said that to Sam, the most important person in the whole world to him.

To say I love you to Cas, would be… out of character; but not only that. It would be like admitting there was something more than friendship between them. And that was a step too big, because once down that path, there would be no turning back. Of course, _I love you_ could mean brotherly love. But if he’d said it, that day, in one of his most vulnerable moments, Dean knew that, even though he could always pass the words as friendship… it wasn’t completely true. Because yes, he loves Cas.

He _loves_ Cas.

Only, he has no idea what to do with this. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to – to accept that… well, Cas is a man. One could argue that angels are sexless, and real Cas is a being of light. But he’s in a very male vessel, and a vessel that’s only his, now that Jimmy is dead. So, Cas is a guy. And Dean… Dean is a ladies’ man. He has no idea how to be anything else. He’s a ladies’ man finally admitting he’s… in love with his male best friend.

But he loves him, he does. He’d almost had a heart attack when he found him as Emmanuel. Even more, when he saw Daphne, his _wife_. And when Cas said he’d slept with April. And when he was going on a date with Nora. Every time, Dean can identify that his reaction wasn’t completely heterosexual. He acted like… like he was uncomfortable with the idea of Cas having sex.

Because, well, he is uncomfortable. Dean doesn’t expect the guy to turn into a monk – angel-monk? What the fuck – while he waits for Dean to come around, God knows when. Maybe never. Dean just doesn’t want to know about it.

His thoughts feel disconnected from one another, like he’s thinking about everything at once and at the same time, doesn’t want to think about anything.

He should be thinking about The Mark of Cain. He should be trying to find an explanation for the pranks. Instead, he’s lying on his bed with a baby Cas, cuddling with him, and it feels really, really nice.

He knows that seeing him and Cas living together, probably hunting together – they had a dog named Tobiah for God’s sake – messed with his head. But also it touched something deep inside him: a place he doesn’t want to look at frequently, because it always hurts to do so; a place he gave up visiting when he had to let Lisa and Ben go.

He and Cas had a _family_. They were _happy_. They were _together_.

Dean realizes he wants that more than he can say in words.

But wanting and having are two different things. He doesn’t deserve Cas, for once. The guy is an angel, and Dean is a killer, a freak, a semi-demon-Knight of Hell, whatever. He’s not good enough for Cas, or for anyone.

He should just forget this crap about family, feelings and whatever the hell his parents meant. He doesn’t believe he’s a good person, because he’s not. He should let Cas go – and Sam too – and… God, _and what_? Turn into the sad old man he saw? He doesn’t want that. God help him, he’s not strong enough to let Cas and Sam go. He wants them around. He wants _Cas_ around. Something inside Dean still wants to fight, still doesn’t want to give up.

 Baby Cas whimpers, as if having a bad dream, and his tiny hand grabs Dean’s.

“Shh… everything’s fine. I’m here, I’m here.”

Cas opens his eyes a little. “Dean…?” He mumbles. “You’re here…” he says, so relieved it would be funny if it weren’t somewhat sad.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m here,” Dean says softly. And then, because he sees Cas closing his eyes, knows Cas is sleeping again, ”I love you too.”

 

…xxx...

 

Waking up is something very good when you have someone beside you. Dean wakes up smiling, and he stretches in bed drowsily. He feels warm, with his feet intertwined with someone’s feet and his cheek resting on what is probably a head that smells like green apples.

Wait. Green apples?

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says from under him, and Dean opens his eyes and jumps from the bed as fast as he can. Which proves to be a mistake, because in his hurry, he takes almost all the blanked with him, and , and, and _Cas is an adult, and he's naked on his bed_!

“Huh…” he says, eloquently.

“I was going to ask you not to take the blanket away, but you woke up too fast.”

“Oh. Um… here, you, you can take it,” he says, untangling his arms and legs from the blanked and giving it to Cas, who promptly covers himself.

“Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, Dean. It is very distressful being a child. I don’t know how you humans can take it.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answers. “So, erm… you remember everything?”

“Of course,” and here Cas blushes like a teenager. “I… I’m sorry if I seemed too eager for your company. I just… I wanted to feel safe and, well…” Cas looks at the floor, apparently unable to finish the sentence.

“And you… huh… feel safe with me?” Dean asks.

“Yes, you, um… you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to a child, since you took so good care of your brother when he was one.”

“Yeah, I, okay, then, err… you want me to get out so you can get dressed?”

“You don’t have to,” Cas says, and in the next moment, he’s completely dressed; coat, socks, shoes and all.

Oh. He’s an angel. He can’t fly at the moment, and his mojo is borrowed, but he’s still an angel. A pretty awesome one.

“Well, I’m gonna see if Sammy, if he, if he’s better now. You know all he could do was sing?”

“Yes,” Cas says, getting up from the bed. Dean’s bed. Where he was laying on. Naked. “I heard him. Sam has a nice voice, Dean, but I don’t think I like it when he’s singing.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Neither do I, Cas. He’s out of tune.”

Cas nods and looks at Dean hesitantly.

Dean looks at Cas, waiting for him to talk, but Cas doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring. Dean wants to break the stare, but he can’t, because deep down he doesn’t want to break it, and shit, when did things get so complicated?

“Dean… yesterday, I… I said something, and I… um… I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“No problem, Cas, you didn’t say much, you just wanted to sleep and to, huh, to keep someone around.”

“Not someone,” Cas says. “I wanted _you_ around. But I, um… I said that… Dean, I…” Cas takes a deep breath, as if the extra air in his lungs will give him more courage. “I remember distinctly that I said that I… that I… love you.”

 _Oh, shit, he’s gonna take it back, he’s gonna take it back,_ Dean thinks. He schools his expression, trying to keep neutral and cool about it. “Huh… yes, you were almost sleeping, so that’s okay if you really didn’t – “

Cas starts talking before Dean can finish speaking. “I’m sorry if I was inadequate and I made you feel uncomfortable, but, but, but I’m not going to take it back, or pretend it didn’t happen, because, um… because it’s true.”

“ – mean it, because you were just a baby and – what? What did you just say?” Dean’s eyes are huge in his face, and his heart is beating really, really fast.

Cas blushes and looks at his shoes for a few seconds. Then he seems to get some more courage and looks Dean in the eyes. “I said I love you, and I’m sorry if it makes you feel… if it’s too much for you, I promise not to talk about this again, but I’m not going to take it back.”

Oh.

“You… you meant it?” Dean finally asks.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, very serious.

Dean looks at Cas for a while, mouth hanging open, as if he’s waiting for Cas to start laughing and saying it’s a joke. But Cas doesn’t even know how to joke, does he?

“Why?” he finally asks.

“Why?”

“Yes, Cas, you said you love me. Why?”

“Because you have the brightest soul and the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Because you’re loyal and you try your best in everything you do. Because you think about everyone first and never think about yourself. Because – “

Dean raises a hand. “Okay, I get it. But… but Cas, you’re wrong. I’m not even half of these things you said. Sometimes, I feel like I’m barely holding on. I let down the people I love, look how many died since I came into their lives! I’m _weak._ I _fail_. I’m damaged goods. You… you should put your love somewhere else, because I sure as hell don’t deserve it.”

“I’m almost four billion years old, Dean!” Cas says angrily. “The least you can do is respect my choices. I can be a little naive about the things of the modern world, but I am by no means a child, stupid and easily influenced.”

He crowds Dean against the nearest wall, not touching, but so close that Dean can feel his warm breath. Dean opens his mouth to speak, even though he has no idea what he’ll say, but Cas doesn’t let him.

“It's one thing to not reciprocate my sympathies, my… feelings. You have no obligation to do so, and I understand that you don't. But to belittle the way I feel because you think you don't deserve it, is... infuriating, and a disrespect.”

“I’m past saving, Cas,” Dean finally says.

“I’m not trying to save you, Dean. What I want is to – “

“You can’t. You can’t want anything, because you’re a fucking angel and I’m less than the dirt you step on. I’m a killer, I’ll never be relationship material and, and look at all the stupid things you already did since you met me!”

“I’m entitled to make my own choices, however stupid you think they are. I want to be by your side, in any way you'll have me. Nothing needs to change, you don’t have to do anything. I just... I just want to be near you. To be your friend, and to help you carry as many burdens life throws your way as I can. If you let me.”

>

Dean’s heart is beating fast, about to jump right out of his chest. If this isn’t the most selfless love declaration in the world, Dean doesn’t know what it is. He knows, with everything that he is, that he doesn’t deserve it.

But he wants it.

“Cas…” Dean rasps, “Personal space. Please.”

“My apologies.” Cas takes a step back. He looks the spit image of regret. “I’m sorry I overstepped my boundaries. I’ll try to refrain from doing that in the future.”

“Don’t.” Dean whispers, giving Cas a half-smile. “This is the most awesome kick-ass wonderful thing someone ever said to me.”

“Dean?” Cas tilts his head to one side, and Dean thinks he sees hope in his blue eyes. Hope Dean wants to give him, more than anything.

Dean clears his throat. “Um… did you hear what I said the last time you went to sleep?”

Cas’ eyes widen. “You, you said it was alright.”

“Mhm. And what else?”

“You – you – you said you … I thought I had imagined that. You said you… loved me…?”

Dean’s breath hitches. “Yep. That’s what I said. And… and I meant it, Cas.”

“You did?”

“Come here.”

Dean pulls Cas by his sleeve, and hugs him. Cas is motionless for a few seconds, as if in shock, but slowly, his arms envelop Dean too. It’s a simple hug, one you give to a friend that you love; a friend that maybe is turning into something more.

“I don’t know what I’m ready for, and I sure as hell can’t promise you it’s gonna be easy,” Dean says softly, his chin resting on Cas’ shoulder. “But I want to stay around you too. All the time, if we can have that. And I want to see what will happen if… if I let you convince me that you’re not wasting your time with me.”

“I’m not,” says Cas vehemently.

“Yeah. Maybe. But I want what you want too, Cas. So, maybe we could… try to see where this will lead us? Try to be together, baby steps, and see if it’ll work?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean knows he’s smiling. It’s something so rare that he untangles himself from the embrace just to see Cas’ smile.

“Still no chick flick moments, alright? But – err… I just want you to promise me something.”

“I can’t hurt you or kill you, even if the Mark of Cain wins. I can’t,” Cas says hurriedly.

Dean shakes his head. “Not that, idiot.”

Cas looks a little indignant. “What, then?”

“Promise you’ll never pop out without saying goodbye, or tell me where you’re going? It really gets on my nerves, man.”

Cas releases a relieved breath. “I can promise that.”

 

…xxx...

 

Sam is talking normally now, and apparently he wants to make up for the lost time. He doesn’t stop talking from the moment Dean and Cas appear, to the moment they sit together to have lunch. If he notices that Cas a sitting a little closer to Dean, or that Dean’s hand lingers on Cas’ shoulder more than usual, he doesn’t say anything.

But when he passes Dean on the corridor, after Dean’s told Cas about his not-quite dreams, Sam pats his back with a knowing smile. “About time.”

Dean coughs awkwardly and opens his mouth, an explanation ready on his lips, but Sam raises is hand in warning. “Nuh-uh. Don’t say anything. I just want you to know I’m more than fine with it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “And here I thought there would be no chick-flick this time.”

“Jerk. I’m just happy for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. But, um… I’m happy for me too. Bitch.”

 

…xxx...

 

At night they decide to finish decorating the Christmas tree. It’s Christmas Eve, after all, and, since this is the first Christmas Cas really spends on Earth with them, they want to make it count. Tonight they’ll watch stupid Christmas movies and have chili – Dean’s already made it – and tomorrow they’ll try to find a decent place to have lunch, and maybe even have some pie.

Dean eyes Cas carefully putting the hearts on the tree – he still doesn’t have the courage to tell him they don’t really belong there – with a smile. Once in a while, Cas turns to him, like he wants to make sure Dean is still there, and Dean gives him a half-smile, so Cas goes on.

Then, Cas asks, “Are there any more decorations in the box?”

Dean grabs the box and is about to open it when he sees the small letters on the lid, and then he remembers something: John told him to read the warnings on the box before he opened it!”

“I’m so stupid!” he exclaims, a hand on his own forehead. “Dad told me about it last night, but I didn’t pay attention!”

“What?” Sam and Cas want to know at the same time.

“This.” Dean shows them the box. “I saw this before I opened the box in the storage room, but it was so small, and I didn’t care because, hey, the box was with the cleaning supplies, and, and it was full of Christmas decorations, so, I thought it was alright!”

“You think the objects are cursed?” Cas asks.

“What else could it be?” Sam asks, excitedly. “Give me this, let me take a look.”

Dean gives Sam the box, and shrugs “I have no idea what’s written on it. I just thought that, if it there were any danger, the box would be catalogued and stored somewhere else.”

Sam rolls his eyes and starts examining the box’s lid.  He frowns a little. “I can’t read this. It’s not in any of the languages I know.”

“Perhaps I should take a look?” Cas suggests. “I’m fluent in more than six million forms of communication. I should be able to read it.”

“Yeah, C3P-O, go ahead,” Dean jokes.

“Oh,” says Cas, as soon as he starts reading. “I believe we found the reason for our recent problems.”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

“Yes.”

“Well, can you read it to us?”

“Of course, Dean.

_For you, who helped release me,_

_Thank you for setting me free._

_Whatever you want, it’s yours._

_You shall let go of your fears,_

_And get what you want._

_But for your friends,_

_Get them ready for my pranks._

_For I am the lord of all the tricks._

_So, hurry up, the clock ticks!”_

They look at teach other and say in unison: “Gabriel!”

At the same time, someone knocks heavily at the front door.

“Oh, really?” Dean says, and hurries to open it.

No one is surprised to see Gabriel on the other side. He steps inside the MOL bunker with his usual annoying confidence, looks around, and declares: “I like it. This is a good place.”

Sam, Dean and Cas start talking all at the same time, demanding an explanation.

“You were dead!” they say.

“Well, I am an archangel, true, but at the same time I am a Norse God, and I believe you, boys, saw me ‘dying’ other times. What made you think that this time would be different?”

Dean grimaces. “Um, because you _disappeared_ , asshole, and the whole world almost went to shit! We could’ve used your help!”

“Well, I _couldn’t_ help you then! I had to take precautions, in case our dear brother Luci decided to kill me! And one of these precautions was getting trapped, as Loki, inside an object, something so simple that no one would think about looking for me there. I was trapped inside the box, but you assholes opened it without reading my little poem – the words were the key to release me. Of course, I had to give you, Dean-o, a little Christmas spirit or this would never have worked. It would have been a lot simpler if I’d been here all along to help you. Although, it was way funnier the way it happened.”

“But wait, you died before we found out about the Men of Letters!” Dean asks.

“Do I look like a regular angel to you? No offense, bro,” Gabriel says to Cas.

“None taken.”

“That’s my boy,” the archangel smiles and pops a lollipop out of nowhere, putting it into his mouth immediately. “I can bend space and time. Going back was the best solution, because with all the shit that was happening, it was the only way I could be sure I would come back. If the world had ended, there would be nowhere to come back to, right?”

“But why the Men of Letters?”

“At least I would be among friends? Or, if not exactly friends, less hostile people. The Men of Letters had been using angel feathers for their spells for ages, I assumed they knew about us.”

“Gabriel,” Cas says, “I’m glad you’re back. The other angels would appreciate your guidance.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Come on, bro, not now! There will be time to talk about this. Right now I want to know if Dean-o here got his reward for setting me free.”

“What do you mean?”

“Really?” Gabriel said to Dean. “You didn’t get it? Mhm, you’re dumber than I thought. Maybe we should have a little tête-a-tête.”

"Just tell it wasn't you all the freaking time. You didn't turn into Bobby, or Dad and Mom, did you?"

"Nope. But I recruited them from Heaven, so they could help me with your reward for freeing me. Of all people, Dean-o, I never thought you would be the one to help me."

"It was not intentional," Cas deadpans. 

Gabriel gives him a forced smile. "Thanks, brother, you're making me feel really loved right now." 

 

…xxx...

 

Cas finds Dean watching the Christmas tree. With all the ornaments and the lights, it looks pretty, and looking at it makes Dean feel warm inside. Despite everything, this year’s Christmas is, so far, one of the best of Dean’s whole life.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely, because, even if it’s hard to believe, he _is_ alright.

“Did you talk to Gabriel?”

“I did.”

“And did he explain the meaning of the Christmas ghosts to you?”

“Yep.”

“I’m glad.”

“Mhm.”

They stay side by side in silence, looking at the tree for a while.

“You know,” Dean finally says, “When I met Cain, I thought he was really badass. Some demons followed Crowley and I to his place, and we stayed there fighting them – well I fought them while Crowley pretended to help – while Cain stood calmly watching. I know he was testing me, but that’s not the point.”

Cas reaches for Dean’s hand and squeezes it briefly, as if saying _‘I’m here’_. Dean takes a deep breath and goes on.

“Later, when I felt the power of the Mark, I wondered how could he stand to watch so much bloodshed without doing anything while the Mark was still on his arm. I asked myself how he resisted its lure, how he could have retired from being a Knight of Hell with the Mark still active, probably tingling and burning.”

Cas moves closer, his shoulder brushing Dean’s, and Dean takes strength from the contact. He needs it, to say what he wants to say.

“It made me feel weak. Cain was a demon and yet he resisted the Mark, and I am a man and I couldn’t do it?” he sighed again. “Today Gabriel made me remember something Cain told me. I think I told you his story, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dean, you did.”

“So, um… Cain promised his dying wife that he would retire from his work as a knight. He promised, because she had forgiven all his past sins, as long as he would never kill again. So, because of her, he didn’t kill again, resisting the Mark of Cain in his arm, through centuries. He broke his promise to her when he had to kill an army of demons so I could escape.”

“I’m aware of that story,” Cas says. “I just don’t understand what you mean.”

“Cas, I… I don’t want to wait until you’re dying to promise you not to give into the Mark’s call. I know you want me to fight it.  And I _want_ to fight it. The ghosts and all that crap about believing that I am good showed me my whole life, and I understand now that, from now on, what happens with me – inside me, I mean, not the shitty things we can’t control – depends on the way I believe I’m strong enough to keep fighting.”

“You are strong, Dean. I know it. I believe in you.”

“I know, you do, Cas. And Sam believes too. So, if you two believe so much in me… maybe I – I should start trying too, right?”

“This makes me very happy, Dean.”

They don’t say anything for a few seconds. Then Cas frowns a little and turns to Dean, his head tilted, in concentration. “Does this mean I am the equivalent to you of Cain’s wife, Collete?”

Dean bursts out laughing and hugs Cas in an impulse. “Oh, Cas, never change, man. More or less, I guess, because first, you’re not a woman, and second, you’re infinitely more badass.”

“I’m just a regular angel. One with a rapidly decreasing Grace.”

“Maybe your brother Gabe can help?”

“Maybe.”

“Cas…” Dean’s face turns serious. “You… do you… can you forgiven my sins? Like Cain’s sins were forgiven?”

Cas’s eyes widen. “Dean, I am _no one_ , I have no… how can I forgive your sins when I committed as much sins as you? Who am I to forgive them, Dean?”

“Right now, you are my best friend and the person I wanna be with. So, yeah, it’s important to me that you forgive my sins. Okay? ”

Cas bits his lip. “Only if you forgive mine in return.”

“Deal.”

They smile at each other, and Dean face burns in embarrassment. But it’s good embarrassment, so he stays right where he is.

“Look up, boys!” Gabriel says from the kitchen.

Dean and Cas look up ands there’s a mistletoe suspended in the air, right above their heads.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Gabriel says from the door. “It’s mandatory to kiss under the mistletoe!”

“Go away, Gabriel,” Cas says, annoyed, but he looks at Dean, his face nearly scarlet, and whispers, in that gruff tone of his. “May I…um…”

Dean smiles, because this? This is awesome. “Go ahead.”

It’s only a brush of lips. Soft, tender and brief. Dean feels Cas close and he puts his hands on the angel’s shoulders, feeling his warm breath on his face and the stubble scratching is chin a little. It’s different from everything Dean has experimented in his life. But, even being cliché, it feels _right._

It’s a promise of a new life, and it feels Dean with excitement.

_“Can you feel the love tonight,_

_How it's laid to rest,_

_It's enough to make kings and vagabonds_

_Believe the very best."_

_(_ [ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTtgVSxfr5M_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTtgVSxfr5M) _)_

Sam sings from the top of his voice, and Dean and Cas part, glaring at him. He’s standing by the kitchen’s door, beside Gabriel, who is looking at him clearly annoyed.

“Really, Samsquatch?” the archangel says. “Next time, let me do the singing. Your voice sucks.”

Dean holds Cas close and laughs, and laughs, and then laughs some more.

And, for the first time in a long, long time, he hopes.

THE END

 

 


End file.
